


Bitter Blue

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Falconer Otabek, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Nomad Otabek, Shepherd AU, Shepherd Yuri, fabulous super powers, married at first sight, past jjbek, shepherd with magic elements AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: “Got you something,” his husband supplies in quick explanation. Yuri thrusts a small lump of warm down into his hand. It takes him a moment to fully understand. Large eyes too big for it’s small frame, sharp beak, pointed feet that would someday grow into talons which would shred, useless stumps of wings that would someday sprout feathers and soar.Otabek holds a small goshawk chick in his hand. The creature blinks at him a few times as he blinks at it, both stare at one another in confusion and rapt fascination.





	1. Bitter Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dovesnroses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovesnroses/gifts).



Otabek lives simply. There is the earth, damp black soil from which all things grow. There is the sky, there are deep brimming pools of water, and there is food to eat when the times are good. There are large roasted pieces of meat scorched over the fire, or wild grains to cook whenever they are in the company of someone with a vessel, there is fruit in the summer, and roots in the winter. Otabek lived simply. He was one son among many, and so the burden of being the Patriarch’s son fell onto his older brothers.

Otabek lives simply, but there is something that hangs heavy upon his heart. It tears at his memory during waking hours, and haunts him in his dreams.

For the longest time, Otabek believed the saying of his people, ““No part of this earth shall be tread upon twice.” Of course, there were reasons why they roamed the edges of the earth. Relentlessly they searched, and with every passing generation they could not find what they were looking for.

Otabek has found what _he_ was looking for.

Otabek can remember, riding into the village after a ride which took many days. He’d just turned thirteen, and this was to be the first among many tests which would prove his manhood. Father had just given him the sword at his hip. The task was simple. He was to ride into the village unaided by his older brothers. His task was to steal sheep.  The more he brought, the more clout he gained. If he succeeded, he would be given another task, and at the end of these tasks, they would slaughter the sheep and feast. He would be considered a man.

Otabek rode as far as he could, and then hitched his horse. With him he only carried his sword and rope. Although there were many sheep in the meadow, just past the high rocked ridge munching on clover and bleating softly, none of the allowed him to place the rope around their neck. He couldn’t just slaughter them where they stood, tradition dictated that he had to bring them back alive.

Otabek failed upon that mission, and due to it’s disastrous outcome, was never given the opportunity to complete the other tasks. Although it brought shame onto the patriarch, he was one son among many. Kehmebek and Serebek were honorable men. There were other sons too that would not disappoint.

Otabek touches the heavy leather chest plate with which he now wears all the time. His brothers joked that if he took a wife he’d wear it on his wedding night.

If they knew where he was now, they’d laugh even more.

Underneath is a scar, white in the middle, and red on the edges. It hasn’t faded much in the five years since its infliction. His father said that it would never quite fade, as there was magic involved in its creation.

Defying all that he has ever been told, Otabek has tread upon the same ground now twice. He entered the gorge, and went across the valley, although he dare not ride into the village boldly. He lacks the numbers, and the skills, and the bravado. Otabek stops on a high bluff.

A fair and ethereal creature walks gracefully among craggy rocks, bushes, and bramble. Although he must be considered a man by now by his village’s standards, he walks childishly. His feet stomp over grass and walk loosely across rock, as if he’s seconds away from rolling his ankle. He never does. . From here, Otabek cannot see his deep green eyes, but the crown of golden hair makes misidentification impossible. Otabek finds him just as beautiful now as he did then

Otabek looks onward, past the meadow, and onto the other ridge on high. From his perch, he can see a large lumbering brown speck in the distance. Although he cannot specifically identify the creature, it moves too fluidly to be a bear, which lumbers awkwardly from one paw to another. It stops too frequently to eat as well, meaning that it could easily be a wild boar.

Otabek tightens his horse’s reins, “be ready,” he instructs his companion.

Otabek digs his heels into her flank. There are times in which he feels guilty for leading her into battle time after time after time, possibly leading her to her death through no fault of her own. But there are times where he has just as little choice as she does. He counts now among them.  He rides on, down from the ridge, across the bluff, and into the clearing.

Otabek knows that he should be drawing his blade. He should be readying one of the spears that he has strapped across the back of the saddle for larger game. He knows this, but he rides down the ridge and into the clearing. Catching sight of _him_ up close takes his breath away.  

His name, long embedded in memory like a brand from an iron or ink from a poke tattoo, but never spoken, is heavy on his tongue, “Yuri.”

Several sheep bounce out of his way. The sound of the horse’s hooves against the ground alternates between muted and sharp as she transverses patches of grass and rock. There’s a beautiful cry of, “what the fuck?” from the man that he’s traveled for so far, and sacrificed everything to see once more.

He circles round, and pulls tight on the horse’s reins. Then, he extends his hand, to the other man. “Get on. You’re in danger.” He remembers their language was similar. Similar, but not identical.  He tries to remember how it was that Yuri sounded when they spoke. Vowel sounds longer, consonants shorter, more emotion and more inflection in the voice.

“Right, like nobody’s tried to fucking kidnap me before.” He rolls his eyes, and moves for a thin blade strapped to his waist. The sheath is made of pure silver.

Otabek cringes on instinct. He’s been marked by this blade once, and does not want it again.

“Listen, I was up on the ridge and I spotted a boar-“

Yuri doesn’t respond, his eyes go narrow, his body stiff like a wild animal that’s been penned. He turns to bolt, out of the clearing and down the steep path, with which his horse would’ve had trouble with.

Except, that’s exactly the direction the boar is headed.

Yuri darts away, only to come running back into the clearing moments later. Yuri circles around Otabek on the horse his eyes wide screaming, “are you serious?” at the boar over his shoulder.

The sight would be quite comical, if the circumstances were different.

The boar’s eyes are vacant and dangerous. It’ makes strange rutting noises. Which echo off the rocks. Otabek charges forward, with his blade drawn. He grabs the other man up by the waist, throws him upon the back of the horse, and then holds the blade firm.

He hits it on the first pass. Enraged, the boar charges after him. Yuri, from behind unlatches a spear from the rear of his saddle, and makes a pass at the boar too, at the same time he leans off of the horse and plunges his blade deep.

It takes three more passes before the beast stops moving. Otabek pulls the reins tight, dismounts, and slits the creature’s throat.

There’s a tense moment of silence between them, as they watch the boar ooze blood. The grass grows wet and brown with it. The animal twitches in the strange kind of uncontrolled agony which only a dying creature can. Its death howls echo off the ridge, and make Otabek forget for a moment that this meeting is purposeful.

Otabek then helps Yuri off the animal. His fingers linger too long on the soft blue gauzy tunic which he wears. 

“What’s with you asshole?” Yuri spits.

“You do not remember me?” Otabek tries not to take it personally. Perhaps, given the circumstances of their meeting, it was better if Yuri forgot about him completely. Of course, there would be no going back to his clan, no going back to father, and….

He’s given up too much to give up here and now. Otabek unties the sides of his leather armor. He loosens the straps, and it’s by and large the stupidest thing he’s ever done. He lifts it over his head, just to make sure that Yuri can see it completely. He lifts up his shirt, and reveals to Yuri the white scar across his ribcage. The one that caused him to nearly bleed out. The one that Yuri himself had inflicted.  “Five years ago, I tried to steal sheep from you. You stabbed me where I stood, but felt remorseful. You nursed me back to health.”

“I made a fucking mistake then.”

“When I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.” Otabek had practiced what it was that he was going to say. “As you cared for me, your gaze was firm and unyielding. The eyes of a soldier. I decided that if I survived, I decided that I would finish the trials set for to me by the Patriarch. Then, I would ask you to marry me.” Otabek’s breathing grows heavy and rapid. He is not used to saying so much at once. He feels light headed.

“I stabbed you.” Yuri looks him up and down. His scrutineers glare is hot and unrelenting. Otabek wonders he only found comfort in it due to fever and delirium of injury. “You want to marry me. You realize how stupid that sounds right?”

“Let me rephrase I meant-“

“And you know I’m a boy right.”

Otabek continues to talk. “My people allow men to marry. It is encouraged.” Otabek cannot seem to suck in enough air to complete the words that he needs to explain. It’s more tiring than a hunt, having to find these words and explain himself. “In times of need, when there are not enough women, or not enough food, and we cannot have more children. As one son of many, I do not expect, nor do I wish to marry a woman.”

Yuri opens his mouth, and gulps in air as if he wishes to speak. As I he too is surprised at how much energy it requires to speak.  

The words never come.

Otabek is nonplussed by his bride to be’s silence. Instead, he unlatches the horse’s saddle bags. “I bring gifts as your bridewealth. Please consider them. First, this boar, which I shall butcher for your family so that you may feast upon it.”

Yuri blinks at him widely.

Otabek continues. “I remember your long blonde hair. I made this for you,” he extracts a leather hair wrap from the bag. He treated it himself with coals from fire, and blackest silt, and anything that he could find to darken it, and make sure that it stood out against Yuri’s fine golden hair. It’s meticulously engraved, with designs of his people. A blossoming chrysanthemum, which represented love and devotion, ivy leaves which represented fertility.

He presses it to Yuri’s hand.

He extract more from his bag. This time, large silver bangles, and delicately linked anklets. They’d shine against Yuri’s skin, and everyone would know that it was to him he belonged.

“You made those?” Yuri asks.  

“No,” Otabek confesses.

“So you killed the woman that these belonged to?” There’s no judgement in his tone as he would’ve expected. Just something like over eagerness. It’s strange, and unnerving.

“No,” Otabek responds.

“Her husband then?”

“Yes,” Otabek admits.  But Otabek does not let this reaction discourage him. “I have pelts for you, from animals which I caught and killed.” He extracts a large deer pelt, and another. Secretly he hoped that these would act as their wedding bed. A smaller white pelt, made of a rabbit’s hide.

Yuri says nothing to him in response.

He extracts another gift from his satchel. A long dress like garment made of fabric dyed brilliant purple. The dye took years to make from finely ground shells extracted from the river. They were highly valuable, and this was something that Otabek could not simply swing his sword to find. He had to work, and save, and find gold coins, and buy the fabric from an old woman with a stern face and crooked nose.

He hoped that Yuri would wear it on their wedding day.

Yuri’s eye go wide. He reaches for the fabric. “Um, I mean,” he lets his fingers fall away. Yuri clenches his jaw, suddenly too indignant, and too proud to accept.

No matter. He drapes the garment over Yuri’s shoulder. “One more thing.” The final gift is the best of all, and he can only hope that Yuri does not ask where he procured it. He found the burned remains of a temple in his travels. He recognized the symbols of gods that were identical to his own people’s gods. Emboldened, and ready to exact revenge, Otabek rode on.  Miles on down the road, he found the bandits that raided the temple. On the bodies of one of the bandits he found a large, round cut emerald, engraved with an ancient verse.

“It reminded me of your eyes,” Otabek admits.

“What does it say?” Yuri asks.  He runs his fingers over the fine engraving.

“I don’t know,” Otabek says after a long period of silence. He cannot read. His people have no written language.

Yuri shifts uncomfortably, from one foot to the next. He bites his lip, as if he wants to hurl more insults at the other man, but isn’t sure how to proceed. “Why go through all this trouble? You could’ve just ridden away with me.”

“I told you. Having you isn’t enough. You should want me too, or I won’t have you at all.”

“You can’t just say that kind of thing out loud,” Yuri’s face is a bright crimson red.  Otabek wonders if he blushes elsewhere as well, as fair skinned people often do. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Otabek,” he supplies quickly. “Son of Alibek. Brother to Kemhebek. Fifth in line to the title of patriarch, but Kemehebek’s favorite wife was pregnant when I left. There may be more children too. I am at least sixth in line.”

“Otabek,” He rolls the syllables over his mouth slowly. “I don’t care about any of that really.” Then he adds, “My name is Yuri.”

“I know,” he says. “You told me when we first met.”

“Do you love me?“ Yuri’s voice is firm and unwavering. It’s strange, how he can ask this so directly, yet be so easily flustered by Otabek’s expression of affection.

“What?”

“Do you love me?” Yuri repeats. His mouth morphs into an upturned half smile.

“Yes.” Otabek offers the single word, and nothing more. There’s no more to offer with his satchel emptied, and his soul laid bare. Otabek has given up everything to come here. Yuri will surely laugh at him and send him away.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Otabek insists. He has nothing more to offer Yuri. Although he hasn’t told Yuri, it’s infuriating to be tested so thoroughly when he’s already given so much. It makes the blood boil in his body. It makes him screw his eyes so tightly shut that he sees white on the lids of his eyes. “Are you going to be my bride or not?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Otabek assumed this would happen. He had a backup plan of course. It involved- Wait? “Really?” It’s Otabek’s turn to be incredulous.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

* * *

Yuri had many reasons to deny this _stranger_ , Otabek’s proposal. He had tried to steal the village’s livelihood. Yuri had stabbed him. For all Yuri knew, he wanted to seek revenge and kill him. _Except_ Yuri couldn’t shake this one pesky little detail from his mind.

There was that little fucking _prophetical_ bullshit, which everyone kept whispering about in hushed tones. There was the assumption, that Yuri was was chosen. He had a lot to gain if Otabek really, and truly loved him.

Of course, Yuri isn’t certain that he can return Otabek’s love. And the prophetical bullshit says he has to return the love in order for his chose powers to awaken. Yakov’s fall from grace was proof of that. However, the way heart skips a beat in a way that he’s unaccustomed to is a compelling argument. One time Yuri, having seen the paintings and the etchings in the temple, asked Victor what it felt like when he met Yuuri. Victor said that it felt as if his heart had been consumed by fire.

Yuri doesn’t feel _that_ strongly, but... his gut burns, and he wants to spill his life’s story to this stranger.

Although everything about him screamed danger and destruction, Yuri also saw someone that was everything that he wasn’t, and everything that he wanted to be. He roamed where he wanted, and he took what he wanted, and he did what he wanted, That was admirable. He wasn’t like the people around here who simply waited for assholes like Victor to take care of their problems. Yuri looks at him and sees potential. He’s a skilled leather worker, he could make him a chest plate of armor.

And if not, he could just stab him again.

Yuri corralled his sheep. Otabek fashioned a device with which they could drag the boar’s carcass back to the village.

Otabek insists that he ride with him.

Yuri responds while poking at a sheep with his staff, “how will I get the sheep home? They’re even stupider than you.”

Yuri moves quickly through the craggy terrain, often, he has to wait for Otabek to catch up on horseback.

“Why do you come out here, alone, if people have tried to kidnap you before? If people try to steal sheep?”

“There aren’t many in the village that are suited to tending the sheep. People are too old, or have to take care of their brats. Victor used to do it, but things are different now….” His voice trails off. Otabek doesn’t need to know all of that. Not yet. “He mostly just skulks around.”

“My grandfather tried to keep me in the village, especially given what happened,” he brushes over the statement. “I didn’t like that. I kicked in our tent, and stomped around until I was allowed out again. It’s so fucking boring here.”

There were many reasons not to take him back to the village, except that, the sheep did need to go to the other pasture. The grass here was becoming barren and sparse, and needed time to recover. In order to do that, they had to cross the village and go to the other side, down into the valley.

Yuri’s feet rough and calloused from years of running across craggy ground are steady among the rocky terrain. He hasn’t fallen on the rock in years, and yet, he trips twice, turning to look over his shoulder at Otabek. That shouldn’t be happening.

Otabek dismounts from his horse. With one hand he holds the reins. With the other hand, he holds Yuri’s elbow. Otabek’s suede boots are slick, and do not grip against the craggy ground. He becomes unsteady, and so Yuri has to grab him by the elbow and the waist as they walk.

“I think I’m better at this than you,” Yuri says with a smile.

* * *

Yuri leads Otabek into the village by the hand. Immediately, he can feel a dozen or more sets of eyes upon him, before he can even see a single soul. The path into the village is well worn and smooth. There is no need for Yuri to continue to hold onto him, and yet he keeps his grasp firm.

The buildings are a mixture of permanent structures made of mud bricks and crudely chiseled slabs of rock, and temporary circular structures made of tanned animal skin.

“You’re a nomad right?” Yuri asks as they enter the village.

“Yes. I’ve seen deserts of sand, and mountains of stone, and lush forests too,” Otabek admits. As they walk, Otabek murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. “You call me a nomad, but these are portable dwellings.”

“If we move them at all, we go just to the other side of the valley,” he gestures to the sheep that flow between them, like large tumble weeds out in the arid desert. Otabek wonders, if Yuri has ever seen the desert. “So these bastards can eat.”

Yuri sinks his fingers into the thick wool of a ewe. “It’s maybe a day and a half long journey. We just go back and forth, from those three pastures. The valley, the mountain, and the other side of the valley. Not like you, going everywhere.”

Otabek doesn’t respond.

“My whole life is just this.”

“We’re being watched,” Otabek says dryly.

“Yeah well,” Yuri huffs. “We don’t bring strangers around. And um...People are kind of expecting you.”

“People recognize me? From stealing sheep?” His voice falters. Gone is the brave front that he puts on. He loosens the grip on his blade.

People begin to emerge from the huts, and the buildings. Otabek can hear them speaking in a low murmur, but he cannot discern a word. They speak low, and deny him the opportunity to understand a single syllable.

“No, don’t be stupid-“ Yuri interrupts himself. Then, Yuri disentangles their hands, and lets go of the ewe’s wool. He runs toward the older man, “Grandpa!” Yuri, despite his tall frame, leaps into the other man’s arms. Otabek wonders if this is a standard greeting, or if Yuri has been out in the pasture for several days. “Hey, guess what? This guy _loves_ me!” It’s strange how he accentuates the words. Like Yuri knows something about Otabek’s love that Otabek doesn’t. “We’re getting married. Tonight maybe.”

The old man accepts Yuri into his arms, but his gaze doesn’t leave Otabek for a moment. He looks pale white, as if he’d just seen a spirit among the living.

Yuri introduces the man as his grandfather.

He takes Otabek’s hand in his own, shakes it, and then pulls him in closer for something that is supposed to resemble a hug. But his movements are too sharp to be friendly. He tells Otabek, “thank you, for saving my grandson.” There’s a terseness there, and a heaviness in his words that suggest he’s not thrilled about the engagement. Otabek will solve that. He’ll show the man the gifts he brought. He’ll show that his love for Yuri is legitimate.

He says nothing of the engagement directly. Instead, the man introduces himself, “Nikolai, the cobbler and a simple man.”

By now, a small crowd has gathered in a semicircle surrounding them. Old women with humped backs, men his age with strong broad shoulders, children which hide behind their mothers. It’s strange. Many of the people here have eyes green as dewy grass, much like Yuri. However, he has not seen anyone with the same kind of golden hair. There are still whispers around them. It makes Otabek tug at the long tunic he wears, suddenly acutely aware of the high afternoon sun.

Then, just as suddenly as the whispers started, they stop. The crowd parts to the sound of a man’s thick accented voice, “let me through, let me through. I heard that he saved our Yuri from a beast! I hear that they’re to be wed!”

The man parts the crowd by thundering through much like a wild boar on the loose. However, he possesses an infinite grace. His long limbs move about freely as if he were dancing instead of merely walking. His eyes contain both laughter and deep sorrow, and where joy combines with burdensome sadness, he’s left with cool blue eyes that hide nothing at all.

His hair is colorless.

For a moment, it makes him wonder if this is another relative.

“You saved our Yuri?” He asks with an impish smile. It’s the kind that implies that he knows something that Otabek does not. It’s irritating.

“Yes.”

“And you love him?”

“Yes?” Both he and Yuri seem to be quite hung up on that.

 

“This calls for a celebration then doesn’t it? I see you’ve already brought dinner,” and he claps him harshly on the shoulder. “Bold stranger, I shall show you all the hospitality of our village, which-”

Yuri interjects by kicking his foot high into the air. Otabek can see that he’s wearing long woven pants underneath his tunic. He kicks at the silver haired man, but does not make contact. “Back off alright. He’s mine,” the hand around his own tightens. “And you’re being fucking weird.”

Yuri grabs his hand again and pulls him forward, much to the pleasure…or displeasure…he’s not exactly certain…of the crowd. There are gasps from all around, the silver haired man’s of course being the loudest.

When they’re alone again, Otabek asks him, “who was that?”

“Dumbass Victor, the _Lihosh_.”

Otabek wrinkles his nose in confusion. Their languages are similar, but not identical.

“Like a um…well, you’re a nomad. What would you have? _Priest?”_

Otabek shakes his head hoping that Yuri understands, that he doesn’t know that word.

“Like, a god? But living? And Human? And an asshole in every way?”

“Really?” For some reason, Yuri’s words make his palm itch and his throat tight. He’s heard of this kind of thing before, but he’s never known it to be true. The very idea makes him feel uneasy, as if he’s gotten in over his head.

“Hm. Not like the scary kind. His powers are….” Yuri purses his lips together and frowns. “You’ll see if you stick around.”

* * *

Yuri leads him to a bathing area. It’s within one of the few permanent dwellings in the village, and made of stone. Intricate carvings line the stone walls, the well which rests inside, and the bathing tub. The tub is also made of stone, and is quite deep. There are clay pots which dot the rim of the bathing vessel. The pots are twisted into intricate shapes which he’s never seen before. They’re painted with colors that are so bright they hurt his eyes. The stones of the bath are inlaid with other, colored stones: blue lapis, and polished jade, and all sorts of beautiful things which indicated that Yuri was not merely a shepherd. 

Much to his frustration, Yuri has to transfer bucket after bucket full of water from a well inside the bath house to the tub.  

Yuri stomps back and forth, water quickly covers the floor of the tent and his feet slap against the stone. The water is bluer and clearer than anything Otabek has ever seen before. Yuri curses under his breath as he struggles with the large wooden bucket. Water seeps out of warped places in the bucket. “You’re a lot of trouble,” he says sloshing water into a larger vestibule.

“I could just pour the water over myself.” Otabek suggests. It seems as if Yuri’s hot and cold demeanor could off-putting to some. He leapt into his grandfather’s arms, and called Victor a hag in the same breath. He gives Otabek both sides of his personality simultaneously. He’ll squeeze his hand tight genuinely while insulting him with a smile.

“Yeah, thanks for mentioning that after it’s almost full,” Yuri rolls his eyes. “Okay, I know this is gonna be super hard for you. You’re filthy from traveling the world, or whatever. But don’t get the water too dirty. That way I don’t have to pour more out when I take a bath.”

Otabek is already fiddling with the leather plate wrapped around his chest. “You could join me.”

“Maybe,” Yuri says with a shrug. “We’re not married yet. Am I not supposed to protect my purity?” Yuri extracts a clay jar from a shelf near the bathing vessel. He dumps a fragrant concoction into the water.

Otabek is unsure how he’s supposed to answer that question. They’re both men with needs. They should be able to freely attend to those needs. However customs may be different here. Otabek removes his armor, and then his tunic.

He can feel the weight of Yuri’s eyes upon him. They linger on his bare skin, and his muscles. He dare not call the intensity of the gaze hungry.

“I’ll be outside,” Yuri growls.

“Please stay,” Otabek chokes out. His voice is barely a whisper. “I won’t ask anything else of you.”

A faint pink blush tinges Yuri’s face. It’s the same kind of blush that spread across his cheeks in the field. Otabek has gone to the ends of the Earth to chase it. He’d do it all over again just to see Yuri’s complexion betray his crass demeanor.

Yuri finds a dry spot on the other side of the tub, and sits on the floor facing away from Otabek. “Don’t splash water out this side,” he says softly.

“I won’t.”

Otabek removes his boots, and undoes the straps around his waist which hold his broad sword, his hunting knife, and his smaller blade. He sinks into the water with a hiss. It’s icy cold, matching its clear blue appearance. The water smells of strange herbs. In an instant, his mind is transported back in time. He remembers a thick green poultice being applied to his skin to the place where he has a scar along his side.

Perhaps Yuri was looking at the scar, and didn’t see his body as something to be desired.

It goes silent between them for awhile. Otabek washes himself, and winces when the water turns from blue to brown. He cannot remember the last time that he bathed himself. Otabek reaches for the one of the many containers which line the tub. He pours the fragrant thick soap into his hands and combs it through his wet hair.

“You’re taking too long to get clean. I smell like sheep. Hurry up.”

“I haven’t had a bath in a long time,” Otabek says. He’s going to take his time.  He swirls and churns the water in the bath, and watches it move. “What’s going on here?” Otabek asks when his hair is fully rinsed. He rises from the vessel, and reaches for a long, thin wad of cloth which he assumes he may use to dry his self.  “Everyone talks around me.” Otabek splashes water directly onto his face. “Like they know something I don’t. Why?”

From the corner of his eye Otabek can see a flash of light blue. Yuri’s tunic. Then, pale white skin. Yuri hurls himself over the side of the bathing vessel, sending water spilling over. “This doesn’t mean I wanna fuck. You just take too fucking long.”

“Gods, you’re fucking filthy,” Yuri comments. “Like what is even the fucking point?” Yuri reaches for a thick bristle brush, dunks it into the water and scrubs both his arms until they’re pink.

Otabek says nothing of the way the water darkens after Yuri jumped in the bath. Instead, he continues to wash himself.

Their arms bump lightly as Yuri moves. For a moment, Otabek wonders if he’s going to be stabbed. Instead, Yuri’s thrusting the brush into his hand. “You need it. You’re filfthy.”

Otabek scrubs his skin until it’s raw.

He reaches behind his shoulders to get his back.

“Your arms are so short,” Yuri scoffs. He extracts the brush from Otabek’s hands. Yuri scrubs Otabek’s back until it too feels scrubbed raw.

“You don’t answer my questions. You refuse my advances.” Otabek furrows his brow, “but say you want to marry me. Then, you bathe with me.”

Otabek turns around so that he can look at Yuri. Yuri’s swallows thickly. His pupils are narrow, as if he’s cornered. He blinks at him widely a few times. He opens his mouth as if he wants to speak, but the words never come. Instead, he’s pushing his mouth to Otabek’s.

Kissing Yuri is nothing like he imagined. He’d wanted to thread his fingers softly into Yuri’s hair. He wanted to touch his lips softly. Then, he wanted to deepen the kiss, explore all of Yuri. He wanted to part the deep purple tunic be brought for Yuri, and touch him everywhere.

Instead, their teeth clack together. Yuri’s hands are rough on Otabek’s thigh. Water sloshes around them and spills out onto the floor. Yuri bites at his lip in a way that is unpleasant.

Otabek does his best to remedy this. He grips Yuri’s hands in his own, pulls him upward in the bath water onto his lap so that Yuri has to _feel_ what it is that Yuri makes him feel. He’s aching hard from a sloppy kiss. That is how powerful the boy is. Otabek abandons the idea that he would kiss Yuri softly. He matches his brutal, bruising pace.

When they part, Otabek leaves the tub. The feeling of being lied to is thick in the air. Something is wrong.

Otabek discovers a long swath of fabric which he assumes is to be used to dry off. Then he puts his tunic back on; it clings to his skin. His pants feel too tight, given what Yuri has done to him. He feels naked without his armor on, and so he moves for the thick leg plates, and chest plate.

“You don’t need that here,” Yuri tells him.

“I’m not certain if I can trust you. Or your people.” It pains him to be so blunt, but it must be said.  

From the corner of his eye, he can see Yuri wave his hand dismissively. “About all that other stuff,” Yuri sucks in air audibly. “I didn’t want to tell you until later, but I guess I should? I dunno. It’s really fucking complicated. Okay?”

“I’ll listen.” He should learn about Yuri’s culture, right? “Or learn.”

Yuri makes a gruff noise. It approximates begrudging agreement. This he understands.

Otabek can hear sloshing sounds from behind him as Yuri exits the tub. “At least it fucking drains though,” Otabek carefully trains his gaze at the tub, which is in fact draining. “Ugh, you got all of it wet,” Yuri complains as he wraps himself in the thin threadbare material. 

Otabek steals another furtive glance at Yuri. He’s abandoned the light blue tunic he had on earlier, and has changed into the purple one that Otabek brought. It’s embroidered with golden, leaf like patterns. He puts on a necklace, and a cuff bracelet. Otabek feels as if his gifts are inadequate. Although Yuri’s exact status is unclear, he must be someone special if he has multiple garments in such brilliant colors.

He knows so little about his bride. Perhaps his action are too hasty.

Yuri reaches for a wooden comb and begins to comb out his long blonde hair. “So some of us.” There’s the sound of the tub draining in the background. There’s the drip of water from somewhere else inside the bathing hut. “Not all of us, but some of us, have like…gifts. Power that people don’t have.”

“Victor.”

“Yeah.”

“He fucks with the weather. He can make it snow and stuff. But he can also keep it from snowing too. If the farmers want to put in an extra crop, he can hold it off, or send it away.” Yuri’s expression softens for a moment, as if he were about to say something nice about Victor. Which would be uncharacteristic. “Everyone thinks he’s so fucking important!” Yuri chomps out the words awkwardly while he drags the comb through his long locks. His hair is damp, and clumps together. It makes Yuri look less ethereal. More human.

“My mom had powers. She could feel people’s emotions. People would just come cry on her when people died. Except, when that happened, it always rained. Always. People think I have powers. We all look alike.”

Otabek did notice that although it was clear that Victor and Yuri were distinct enough in appearance to not be, at the very least, closely related, they were undeniably similar: fair skin, light eyes, light hair. This contrasted to the sun kissed faces he saw within the crowd.  “Do you have that hair wrap with you? The leather one?”

Otabek’s heart skips a beat. “In my bag.”

Yuri asks another question, this time, his voice is softer, but somehow more serious. “They’re supposed to be worn together right? You wanted that. When we got married.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees. He wanders out of the bathing tent in a daze, and fetches the hair wrap.

Yuri gathers his still damp hair up at the base of his skull. “Put it on for me.”

Otabek complies. He ties the straps, made of sinew, around Yuri’s hair. The wrap holds his hair in a tight ponytail, and it makes Otabek’s chest swell with pride at the sight. The ornament bears symbols of his people, and it contrasts against his hair so beautifully.

“You said that people think you have powers?”

“Yeah. They um-“ Yuri coughs. “Haven’t awakened yet or whatever. But they will, and I know mine will be much more useful, and way cooler than Victor’s.”

“That doesn’t explain why people talk and stare at me. At us.”

“There’s like um,” Yuri’s face is tinged pink once again. “I can’t tell you that. Please trust me.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Against his better judgement, Otabek clenches his jaw and nods. “You owe me answers.”

 “Whatever, it’s your turn.” Yuri selects a necklace from among the hundreds of clay vases and pieces of jewelry which are scattered about the room.  He places it around Otabek’s neck. Then, he combs Otabek’s hair back with his fingers. It’s the softest and most intentional kind of touch that Otabek has ever felt. Perhaps it is because he’s gone so long without the touch of another human. He never wants it to end. “How do you get your hair cut like that?”

“I keep a very small, very sharp blade. Smaller than yours.” It was the belief among his people that having shorter hair around the ears was good for the health. Reduced the risk of infection.

“It’s amazing,” Yuri admits. His fingers leave, and Otabek feels as if he’s been stabbed in the chest again.

A bundle of blue flowers rest in one of the clay vases, presumably on water. Yuri plucks a sprig from the vase, then more, and more, until he manipulates them into a bracelet of sort for Otabek. He grabs Otabek’s wrist, and the soft touch on his pulse point is somehow better than the ones on his scalp. Yuri slips it over his wrist.

“Flowers are for girls.”

“Not here.” Yuri says simply.

Yuri puts on a pair of long suede gloves. They’re dyed red like blood. They pop against his pale skin, and melt into the purple tunic.  The gloves do not have fingers, and stop at the first knuckle. They’re too thin to hold a falcon, and they offer no protection to the most fragile of appendages. They’re embroidered, much like his tunic, with threads of marigold hues in intricate patterns. Otabek deems them useless. Decoration is not a function.

“Okay,” Yuri smooths a stray lock of hair away from his face, furrows his brow, and clenches his jaw. “Let’s do this.” This is the look of a man before he goes into battle, not a man who is about to attend his own wedding. Otabek wonders if he should be afraid.


	2. Sitting

As the sun goes down, Yuri walks with Otabek at his side to the center of the village. He stops at a small pen, where his sheep are kept whenever he has to be at the village. “Be good okay? Don’t get eaten while we’re gone.”

“You’re good with animals.” Yuri sinks his fingers into thick wool. The action is so completely ingrained in his muscle memory that he cannot care that he’s fresh from a bath, and does not smell of sheep for the first time in a long time. He pats them on the head as they clamor forward to the sound of his voice.

“They don’t say dumb shit like people. I have a cat too.”

“A cat?”

“Yeah, it’s like-“

“I know what it is. I haven’t seen one in a long time.”

“Yeah! My grandfather gave her to me. I’m not sure where she came from, but I’ve always had her. You’ll meet her later I guess.”

“I’d like that.”

As they approach, Otabek can see that large bonfire is already going. Smoke catches in the light of the fire, and embers dance across the night’s sky floating upward, and outward, and burning out just as quickly as they rise. Half of the boar flank has already been roasted. The rest of the boar sits on a spit over the fire. The air smells of smoke, and burned pork fat, and cooked meat. Women sit on the ground with babies. Men, stand and linger in semicircles behind talking in low voices. Occasionally, they boom with deep belly laughter will emerge from these groups. It startles Otabek each time.

Yuri sinks down on a cushion which is woven from the same kind of thin fabric his clothes are made of. Otabek mirrors his actions and sinks down on the cushion. Otabek feels stripped bare before these people. He left his armor at the bath house, as per Yuri’s instruction.

An old man with thin hair and ruddy face approaches them. His complexion is dark, even, and natural insinuating that it’s not from drink, but from perpetual anger. “Nikolai might not want to say anything to you directly, but I think you’re being a damn fool.”

Otabek feels eyes, heavy upon him.  Otabek tenses under the scrutiny. He does not know who this old man is, another grandfather? It doesn’t matter. He can say what he would like about him. Otabek can defend himself, as a man. He doesn’t like the way he speaks to Yuri so informally, and so demandingly.

“If you really think this brute you just met can _sustain_ your powers you’ll end up just like Vitya or worse.”

“If you’re trying to make me change my mind, it’s not working.” Yuri leans back and stretches his arms outward, he throws his legs up on more cushions. “Victor’s a mess, and everyone loves him. Go yell at him you old ass.” Yuri’s tone is miffed, but not enraged. These insults are halfhearted, as if they’d been given too many times to truly be impactful.  

Across the fire, Otabek can see Victor. His colorless hair makes him impossible to miss. He chats excitedly to a woman with fiery red hair, and light blue eyes. Otabek wonders, if she is included among the village’s group of mystical people.

Small girls bring them both large containers of wine. They remind him of his own sisters, who are certainly old enough to perform these kinds of tasks after a successful hunt, or raid. He wonders how many more siblings he has now. He wonders how many times an uncle he is now.

These are questions he’ll most likely never know the answer to.

Otabek drinks from the cask of wine. The liquid is fragrant, like spices and herbs. It’s sweet too, and Otabek has never had this kind of intermingling flavor. He isn’t sure if he likes it. However, the liquid is strong. It pushes the questions from his mind, and makes him focus on the fact that he accomplished his goal.

“Who was that?”

“Who was what?” Yuri speak with his mouth full. Bright red wine spills out of his mouth and onto the brilliant and expensive tunic.

“Um,” Otabek bites his bottom lip pensively. Silently, he decides that he will not say anything about it. “The other older man? A grandfather?”

“No, Yakov is….Was _Lihosh._ His is powers are gone. Dried up with age or something. But he helps Victor. Helped my mom.”

“Oh.” It seems like every question unearths more. At the very least, Yuri’s answer to _this_ question doesn’t make the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

More things are brought to them. Roasted meat on brittle clay dishes, dried fruit, hunks of crusted bread. The meat is greasy and flavorful. Otabek has to be careful to not overeat. “Have some?”

“Yeah, gimme.” Yuri’s mouth falls open. A partially chewed seeds rests on his tongue, but all Otabek can see in the rapidly fading daylight is Yuri’s soft, wine stained lips lips.

Otabek rests the meat upon his tongue.

Yuri’s lips wrap around it.

He chews, swallows, and Otabek watches his throat move.

“That is good.” Yuri decides taking most of Otabek’s portion and putting it onto his own plate.

It’s warm by the fire, far warmer than the noon heat. In the twilight hours, it’s difficult to tell where the fire ends, and the sunset begins. Otabek looks upward, and already can see the moon in a small patch of inky blackness. As if the sun is setting from the inside out. The edges around the mountain are the last to go.

Grease is thick on his tongue. Otabek drinks more wine to clear his palate.

Yuri purposefully presses his body up against him, and his body is burning hot. Yuri’s hand is locked in his, squeezed tightly. Otabek continues to feel the same tightening sensation in his chest, which suggests that all eyes are _still_ on them. One touch is for the burning and inquisitive eyes. One touch is for him, and him alone.

The belly laughs of men, and the titter of women, and the coo of children is slowly edged out. First by the soft tap of drums. Then, the soft hushed tones of flute. Finally, the pitchy noise of an instrument that Otabek has never heard before. Otabek scans the crowd, locates the magicians, and finally discerns that it’s the strange instrument. Wide around the base, and long at the neck, it looks like a gourd. However, strings are pulled tight across it.

The soft lull of music immediately takes some of the rigidity from Otabek’s posture. The song sounds familiar, and reminds him of home. Otabek drinks more wine, and leans into Yuri. He smells of the fragrant concoction Yuri poured into the bath. “I used to play the drum. My brother had one.”

Yuri turns to him. Their mouths are only inches apart. He could lean in and kiss him again. Otabek decides not to. There could be rules, norms, against it. “Hey,” Yuri calls over his shoulder. Not once does he break eye contact with Otabek. “He wants an instrument. Drums.”

And just like that, a man to their left surrenders his drum.

The head of the drum is soft, and made of tanned material. Otabek brushes his fingertips against it, and tests the sound, and tries to find rhythm. He becomes so engrossed in it, that his gaze leaves Yuri. He focuses on the rhythm. It flows through him like a pulse. It could very easily be the wine augmenting his sense of space and presence.

His fingers move freely across the instrument. Blends in easily with all the others.  Otabek, for the first time, possibly since he rode into the village with the intent of stealing sheep, feels at peace.

So, of course, Yuri brings it all crashing down.  “Oh, gods.” He groans and makes a gagging noise. “No one cares, hag.”  

“Yuri,” a gruff voice scolds. Nikolai has taken the seat on the other side of Yuri.

The secure and warm feeling that he had being at Yuri’s side is gone. Nikolai’s gaze is heavy, and makes him feel as if he’s done something wrong, even though he has not.

Across the campfire, Otabek can see what Yuri is groaning about.

Victor rises from the circle. He’s dressed in jewelry that is shiner and more elaborate than Yuri’s. The beads, some of them made from translucent glass, reflect the light of the fire. Long strands of beaded fringe are draped across the shoulders of his costume, and the beads rattle together against their weight.  “Dance?” he asks an unknown speaker. “Alright.”

The song shifts. Less drums, more flute and string. Otabek’s hands still.

Victor stretches his long limbs outward. He looks like a bird of prey with an impossibly large wingspan, about to take flight. Except, his smile eradicates any suspicion of predatory nature. He throws a single arm back dramatically, and then his feet take off to the music.

“Everybody thinks Victor is the best fucking dancer,” Yuri hisses into his ear, so that no one can overhear and disagree with him. 

Otabek would be apt to agree with “everybody.” Victor’s feet dance dangerously close to the fire and the crowd. His feet are steady and never miss a beat. He spins round rapidly, holds pose dramatically. He laps at the audience like the flames that drag against the coals, and Otabek is captivated. He sees no flaw in Victor’s form.

“He always does this. It’s supposed to be about me.”

_“_ You mean us. “

“Yeah,” Yuri agrees. “Us,” and squeezes his hand tight. “I’m a better dancer though,” Yuri adds.

 Otabek believes Yuri completely despite the fact that he does not have any solid evidence. Yuri moves gracefully among craggy rocks, and he skips ahead and dances to an almost natural rhythm while walking.

“For the happy couple,” Victor says. His smile is unwavering, but there is a sadness in his expression. It is that sadness that cracks the aloof veneer that he wears, and renders him vulnerable and human like all the rest. In that moment Otabek doesn’t see a demigod, a _Lihosh,_ whatever that actually means. He simply sees another human who aches. “I wish you nothing but good fortune.”  His steps soften. He extends a hand to Yuri. “Join me Yuri.”

“Just get on with it,” Yuri barks.

“Get on with what?” Victor asks incredulously.

“Marry us.”

“Before you dance for him? With him? I don’t think so,” Victor breaks stride. He points his index finger to his mouth, and taps it lightly against his lips. “I wonder what benefit that would have?” Then, he drifts away as gracefully as he appeared before them.  Off to entertain some other villager crouched around the fire.

“What an asshole!” Yuri comments.

“He has to be the one that does it?”

“Yeah,” Yuri growls. He’s the strongest Lihoush in the village. People actually believe that he understands love, and who should marry, and all that junk better than anyone because of it. Asshole.“

“This is the part you’re not telling me,” Otabek insists.

“Yeah,” Yuri says in-between large gulps of wine. He doesn’t even deny it. “You still wanna do it though right?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me.” Yuri stand up extends his hand to Otabek helping him up. Otabek feels wobbly on his feet.

Removed from the fire, Otabek feels as if he’s been thrown into the icy tundra, if not but for a moment. The cool night air pricks at his skin, and a feeling other than _hot_ returns to him. He feels damp all over from perspiration, and the cool night air clashes against it, making shivers run down his spine.

“You wanna know?” Yuri’s voice is nonchalant, like he’s asked for more wine, or he’s speaking with his sheep.

“Of course.”

“Every Lihosh needs a Lehin to unlock their powers. I won’t make you ask me what a Lehin is. I hate it when people drag shit out like that.” Yuri’s face pulls into a strange, melancholy grin. It reminds him of the strange and heavy look on Victor’s face, although he dare not mention it to Yuri directly. “To have a Lehin means that…Um. _Lihosh’s_ powers aren’t awakened until they fall in love.”

* * *

“A Lihosh’s powers aren’t awakened until they fall in love.” Yuri’s voice creaks as he talks. He knows what question comes next. He hopes that is enough for Otabek. He has to realize, he’s _got to realize,_ that their feelings are unequal. He hasn’t been pining every day for five years.

“Do you love me Yuri?”

“You’re amazing, with a sword and all these stolen gifts, and you do shit that I could never dream of, because I’m fucking stuck here and everyone expects something from me.” Yuri keeps talking. “I want to get naked and fuck around.”

“That’s not love, Yuri.” Otabek’s eyes are cast downward. He clamps his jaw tight in frustration. “I’ve seen my brothers marry because a girl was beautiful. Those never last. They run away, or they do not bear children, or they grow spiteful with one another, and they take another wife.”

Yuri can hear the frustration in his voice. This is where it all falls apart. This is where he rides off, and Yuri’s left without awakening. Not to mention, the thought of Otabek just up and leaving makes his stomach drop.

“There’s more to it,”

“What the fuck do you know? You haven’t been around me in years. You don’t know.”

“I know that you have a temper, but I still see your softness. I knew that you weren’t being honest, but I trusted that you would reveal the truth to me, and now it is so.”

Yuri feels a heavy, demanding arm pull him forward and into his embrace. The action makes his breath catch in his throat.

“I know that I love you. I shall marry you, and I shall stand by you.” Otabek continues, “I think you’ll grow to love me too.” Yuri can feel his fingers move down his back, caressing him softly. “One more thing,” Otabek leans in and seals their lips together. Otabek tastes sweet like wine, and Yuri gets drunk. Despite his frustration, it’s Yuri that deepens the kiss. It’s hotter than sitting fireside when he’s pressed up against Otabek.

Otabek’s hands are up under his shirt reaching for any bare skin that he can find. Yuri can feel his own cock stiffen, and before long he’s rutting up against Otabek wild and uncontrolled.

“Yuri,” it’s Otabek who pushes away again. “Let’s save it. We have something important to do, right?”

“Right,” Yuri admits. However, he doesn’t pull away from Otabek’s body. “For the dance...”Yuri bends and twists, teaching Otabek several simple moves to assess his abilities. It’s strange. His body is stiff like a board and doesn’t catch on to his movements quickly.

Then, all at once, the hard board breaks. Otabek moves fluidly, as if he’s been a dancer for his whole life.  

“Like this,” Yuri places his hand on his hip. “And then like this,” and Yuri turns in pushing their bodies back together.

Otabek steals several kisses: on his neck, his earlobes, and cools him down with chaste kisses to the temple.

“Victor thinks that he’s so fucking good. We’ll fucking show him. Right?”

Otabek nods yes, and threads their fingers together. Gently, he pulls them back to the camp fire. Yuri steps in front of him, parts the crowd, and demands the attention of everyone.

* * *

It feels different when all eyes are on them because Yuri demands it, versus when they steal glances, or unapologetically stare.

Yuri barks, “where’s Victor?”

Otabek scans the crowd for the silver haired man. He’s sitting in the same spot they left him in, playing with a baby with an oddly abundant mop of black hair. It’s smiling, but its face is ruddy, suggesting that it was Victor that soothed the infant that cried out moments before.

“Ah, are you dancing for each other? This is so exciting. Nikolai, are you seeing this?”

Otabek meets Nikolai’s gaze. His jaw is clenched in a way that suggest something worse than disapproval. It’s the same kind of expression that Kehmhebek, give whenever Otabek did something foolish such as ride his horse too hard for too long along rough ground, or use his blade improperly. Kemhebek was always more like a father than the patriarch.

It’s the look that adults give children when they want to say something, but know that their request will fall upon deaf ears, and the child will go on anyway. Otabek wonders if Yuri can see it, or if he choses to ignore it.

 “Georgi, Mila,” he gestures to the red headed girl that Otabek picked out from the crowd earlier. “Give us something good. Okay?”

The music is fast paced and mostly drums. Yuri shrinks in close to his body, and Otabek holds him protectively. Then, he quickly turns out, and dances away. With Yuri gone from his side, he feels unsteady, wobbly. Suddenly, he’s acutely aware of just how drunk that he is. He and Yuri have gone through a _lot_ of wine throughout the evening.

Yuri’s dance is intricate, he all but bounces from one foot to the next as he moves to the rhythm. His eyes are blown wide and wild. His arms move faster than the eye can keep up with them by light of the fire.

Yuri moves back, into the crowd, and then charges forward, jumping over the fire with a wide split.

There are gasps among the crowd, and Otabek is among them. His jaw goes slack, as he tries to remember that he too, is supposed to be an active participant in Yuri’s performance. Otabek responds to Yuri through similar movements. It would be easy to feel inadequate when compared to Yuri. It would be easy to think that his body is too stiff, and too untrained, but he cannot allow himself a single fraction of self-doubt.

Yuri chose him. Yuri accepted him. That alone fuels his own performance. Otabek moves back and forth with the rapid music. He let his feet take control. He edges into Yuri’s space, and soon they’re dancing seamlessly together, as if they’d been doing it their entire lives. Otabek places a hand at Yuri’s hip. They spin round and round. With every movement, every question, every bit of anxiety is pushed from Otabek’s mind. Instead, he’s consumed by the strange and powerful embers of Yuri’s eyes.

Yuri’s hands ghost over his shirt. Otabek rucks the purple gold tunic back, and Yuri leans backwards making it fall forward even more, revealing more skin.

Then Yuri stands upright again. He extends a hand to Otabek. Otabek takes it, and consumed by passion and performance he strips one of the pink gloves away.

Yuri raises his other hand, in an invitation to repeat the action.

Otabek raises Yuri’s hand to his mouth, and bites the glove, pulling it off with his teeth. Otabek tosses the glove aside. Yuri caresses the side of his face, and then falls to the ground dramatically to signify the end of their dance.

It takes Otabek a moment to realize that the music has ended. The pounding of his own heart mirrored the droning of the drums. His breathing is ragged, but not due to physical strain.

When they end, they’ve gone round and round the fire, until they were right in front of Victor. The child is gone from his arms. He sits with his arms crossed in front of him. His face is stock still. His brow is knit in concentration, and what Otabek perceives as a deep sadness. It’s different from the longing and knowing look given to them by Nikolai. The look isn’t about _them_ Yuri and Otabek, and it’s more an inward expression that cannot be masked from the outside world.

Then, in a split second, his joyous façade is put back into place.

“Amazing,” he claps his hands together softly. “You know that I really love this kind of thing. I suppose you really do love each other.”

“Get on with it hag.” Yuri demands. Otabek nods in agreement. Blood has rushed to his ears, to his cheeks, to elsewhere in his body. He needs Yuri. He needs more than a dance or a stolen kiss or a shared bath, and it cannot wait any longer.

Victor nods, and undoes a long red sash around his waist.

Yuri clamps their hands together, and Victor wraps the fabric around their hands several times.

“Now Yuri, do you take this, what was your name again? I’m sorry for being forgetful. I have great deal on my mind”

“Otabek.”

To Yuri he asks, “do you take this Otabek as your own _?_ ”

“Yes,” Yuri says before Victor can even finish the sentence.

Victor asks the same of Otabek. “Do you take this Yuri as your own?” Much like Yuri, he says yes repeatedly.  

“Alright,” Victor says with a smile. He turns gingerly to the crowd. “Let us all drink to the happy couple, and to Yuri, may your _Lehin_ awaken you, _Lihosh_.”

Yuri tugs at Otabek’s shirt, demanding that they mash their mouths together in a hasty kiss. There’s clapping, cheering, and more music.

Victor passes Otabek wine. Mila passes Otabek wine. Georgi passes Otabek wine. Yuri passes Otabek wine, and then Otabek passes it back to Yuri. This happens over, and over, and over again until Yuri’s leading him back to his tent and giggling, “you can’t drink like a nomad. I always heard that nomad’s could,” _hic_. He interrupts himself with a hiccup. “Could drink.”

“We don’t even make wine.” Otabek’s back hits soft animal pelts. Then Yuri snuggles up to him, soft and warm. It’s their wedding night. Isn’t he supposed to be wooing Yuri again for a second time, with his skill and his adroitness as a lover?

Instead, he feels his eyes drag shut. Unable to stop sleep, he gets his first restful night in years.  

* * *

Yuri’s sleep is restless. He often dreams, and those dreams are often unnerving. He dreams of his mother. He dreams of never _awakening_. He dreams of losing the sheep. He dreams of failure, and death, and crops drying. On his wedding night, Yuri twists and turns and flails next to Otabek. He dreams, of the man that he hastily wed.

Yuri is out in the pasture, near the base of the mountain, Moss. The mountain was named for the soft, green, carpet like plants that grow over all of the rocks, and make it unlike other rock laden areas in the village. Yuri’s seated on a high rock, looking down on all of his sheep, and trying not to melt in the summer sun. He’s got a piece of linen draped over his head, but he knows that he’ll probably burn in the sun.

With a cry and a shout, someone charges into the clearing. By the way that he moves on the rock, falling over, and quickly trying to right himself, he isn’t a villager. No villager in good health would simply fall on the rocks. They’re all trained how to move from a very early age.

Frantically, he tries to fix a rope around the sheep’s neck, and to make matters worse, it’s his fucking favorite. A big old ewe named Ada. Yuri hops down off of the rock, and runs across the moss. “Back the fuck off!”

But the stranger buckles down and tries to get the sheep. How fucking stupid. Yuri grabs at his hand. The stranger grabs him, and pulls him away. He’s very dangerously strong, and it makes Yuri act without thinking. Startled, like when the sheep are cornered by a wolf, he draws the blade that he keeps tied to his waist. He holds it for a split second in warning.

The stranger’s eyes are wide, and frozen in fear, but his iron tight grip does not loosen.

Yuri sinks the blade inside soft flesh with minimal resistance. It’s like cutting into bread.

 Yuri sees the blood before the thief does. His eyes go wide, and only then does the stranger look down to see the blade inside. His eyes go wide, his mouth open in a silent scream, his hands fall to the wound.

Yuri strips his own tunic off and presses it to the wound. Yuri started talking, trying to comfort the stranger, “please don’t die. Please don’t die. You were supposed to run away. its fine, my mother can help,” he simply let words fall out of his mouth until help came.

Yuri watches his mother, in near perfect memory, sew Otabek back together with a long thin needle made of animal bone. Otabek grits his teeth in pain. Big, wet tears stream down his face, but not once did he make noise.

Yuri holds his hand, and does not complain when the stranger squeezes him until his hand was red.

It’s Yuri’s job to tend to him. He rubs a thick green poultice over the wound twice a day. Even in dreams its scent is pungent. He props Otabek’s head up during the height of his fever, and makes him drink. He changes the linens, and tries to get Otabek to eat: a few bite of porridge, or fruit mashed into a pulp.

True to memory, Otabek never speaks to him. In the past Yuri assumed that it was because they did not share a common tongue. True to memory, his eyes burn like hot embers into his soul, making him feel exposed, and vulnerable, but most of all guilty. Everyone tells him that he did the right thing. He protected their livelihood, but the stranger isn’t much older than he is. Surely, he didn’t deserve to die.

One day, Yuri leads the sheep over to the second pasture. The near pasture was nearly picked dry by the animals. Mother says that she would tend to Otabek. When he returns that night, the bedroll in their hut was empty.

* * *

 

Yuri wakes, and bolts upright. His body is covered in a cold sweat. He feels as if he’s run across the pasture, through the village, and into the other grazing ground. Immediately he looks to the right of him, and is relieved to see Otabek. That’s right. His husband Otabek lays peacefully next to him in bed. Yuri clutches at the furs they’d slept under, trying to catch his breath.

It’s cold in the dwelling. His entire skin is dotted with gooseflesh. He can see his breath in the faint light of morning, which _should_ have tipped him off that _something_ was very wrong.

Except, Otabek’s eyes flutter open softly. He reaches out, and brushes Yuri’s arm. It’s strange, how the man that looks so tense, and unyielding on top of his horse can move so gracefully. Can look so at peace here in Yuri’s home.

“Yura.”

Yuri can feel a hot blush creep to his cheeks in embarrassment. It’s too familiar, but they are married now. 

“What’s wrong Yura?”

“I um,” Yuri scrambles for his water skin and takes a long draught. His mouth is dry from a night of dancing, drinking, and standing over fire. “Dreamed that you were gone,” he says wiping water from his mouth. He hands the water skin to Otabek.

Otabek accepts the water skin and takes a long pull from it. Then, he sets it back upon the ground. “Come here, it’s cold.”

Yuri cannot argue with that. He burrows back down underneath the pelts, next to Otabek’s warm body. He wraps his arms around Otabek, who is nothing but compact muscle beneath his touch. It makes Yuri shiver.

Victor could say what he want. He could disbelieve all he want. Grandpa and Yakov, and the whole village could too. Although he just met Otabek, Yuri wants him. Otabek is beautiful. Not in the way that people say that _he_ is beautiful or _his mother_ was beautiful. Otabek is lovely in his own kind of way: long eyelashes against dark skin, a warrior’s spirt and a dancer’s body, thick muscles and soft touches.

He makes Yuri ache in a way that no other human had before.

Otabek kisses him. It’s different from all other kisses they’ve shared in the past day. This one is long, and lingering, like pouring honey out of a jar, it goes on, and on, and on, without reaching its intended destination. “I’m not going anywhere,” Otabek breathes into his neck. “I told you. I love you.”

If Yuri’s heart wasn’t pounding in his chest, he’d say the same to Otabek. Except, he cannot. His throat still feels dry and constricted, maybe even worse so. Otabek’s got his tunic rucked up, and he’s tracing intricate shapes on the flat of his stomach and his chest.

Rough, calloused fingers flit across one nipple, and then the next, and Yuri’s breath catches in his throat. “Let me show you Yuri.”  Otabek turns them over so that he hovers over Yuri’s body.

“It is still our wedding night?” Yuri supplies.

“Yes,” Otabek agrees, and then they’re kissing again. Otabek sets the pace. It’s demanding, but not overwhelming. He explores Yuri’s mouth with his tongue, and moans into the kiss which Yuri finds to be addictive. It makes him want to chase that kind of reaction until he gets it over and over again.

Yuri touches everywhere he can get on Otabek’s body. His skin is soft, and his muscles are toned, and Yuri tries not to allow his fingertips to linger too long on the thin white scar on his stomach.

“It’s fine Yuri, you can touch it.”

So Yuri does. He traces it from the edge closes to Otabek’s hip bones, to the other end. He runs his finger down it in a zig zag pattern, fascinated with the hard and uneven patch of flesh.

“I’m bound to you Yuri,” he says, presumably of both their marriage and their scar.

It should scare him, but it does not. 

“How should we do this?” Yuri isn’t stupid. He know how sex works. He’s see animals, he’s walked into shared tents. He also knows that two men can do it, because _Victor_. Except, he’s always yelled at the old hag before he got the chance to speak.

“You’ve never?” Otabek asks. Otabek’s voice is gentle and concerned, but he can see the way his mouth curls into a smile. He can feel the way his cock twitches against his thigh. Otabek is prideful of that.  

For Yuri, it has the opposite effect, and it tugs at his anxiety. He doesn’t like the idea of Otabek with anyone else. He doesn’t like the idea of Otabek having someone who was better at this than him.  “Hey, have you?”

“Yes,” Otabek admits. “It’s very common among our people to just um-“

“I get it.” Yuri interrupts. He has no fucking reason to be envious of something he didn’t have access to until yesterday. He has no reson to be jealous when Otabek is fucking married to him now. Yuri shimmies out of his loose fitting pants and tugs at the waistband of Otabek’s. Then, they’re naked touching each other and rolling aroud underneath the fur, and licking and biting each other whenever and wherever they can.

Yuri continues to touch every part of Otabek’s body that he can gain access to. He takes a nipple between his fingers, and watches it pebble against his touch and the cool air. Otabek’s skin here is darker, and he wonders if it will be darker elsewhere on Otabek’s body.

Otabek’s cock brushes up against his, and he pulls off of Otabek’s neck only to moan into the other man’s skin.

“You like that?”

“How the fuck could I not?”

Otabek presses his full length against Yuri’s. Yuri cranes his neck to look down at Otabek.  Yuri can’t see _everything_ it’s clear that Otabek is larger, at the very least, thicker.

Otabek wraps a hand around both of them, and gives an experimental pump.

To which Yuri can swear he feels his eyes roll back into his head. Otabek’s body is hard all over. His cock is similar, except that it feels like soft silk draped over stone. Feeling it against his own makes him feel light headed, and far drunk than any wine could ever make him.

Otabek does it again, and again, slowly he builds up a rhythm. Yuri, determined not to be passive, wraps a hand around them too, and joins Otabek. Where Otabek had rhythm alone, their combined movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. But, it feels so good. Yuri has been touching himself for years now, but never understood how much better a partner made things better.

Of course Otabek’s soft, uncharacteristically needy moans of, “Yura,” helped. Two syllables, four letters, a nick name that countless other villagers had tried to call him, and yet from Otabek’s mouth it sounds so different. It feels special, as if it were a title to be proud of.

Otabek twists his wrist as he works both of their cocks, and it doesn’t take long for Yuri at all. He’s coming all over their hands, and then so is Otabek. They kiss each other through it, swallowing up all sorts of dirty sounds from one another, leaving nothing but the obscene sound of skin against skin and wet mouth against wet mouth.

Yuri wipes them off the best he can, and then dives back under the furs. “Why is it so fucking c-cold.” 

“Hm,” Otabek grunts, although Yuri’s not sure if it’s in agreement or frustration at the weather.

Either way, laying around naked wasn’t going to solve anything.

Otabek helps him pull his tunic over his head, and then Yuri does the same. Next come pants. Otabek pulls on his shoes, and Yuri ties back his hair in the wrap again.

“What is there for breakfast?”

“Usually bread. We’ll have to go get it from the big clay ovens-“

Otabek parts the tent flap and steps outside. “Yuri,” Otabek interrupts. “Does it, normally snow here this time of year?”

“Snow?” Yuri tumbles out of the tent, and it’s a stupid thing to do, his feet burn with the cold sting of snow touching his bare toes, and oh fuck. “Victor,” he breathes.

* * *

 

Yuri should’ve fucking expected this.

Victor’s actual awakening happened years ago. There was this blonde pervert Chris who lived on the other side of the mountain in a fucking meadow filled with flowers. Who the fuck knew what him and his village actually did to survive, because whenever he came calling he brought nothing of use with him. Just flowers and increasingly outlandish proposals.

Victor’s _second_ awakening happened whenever that blind piglet waddled into town. He got shitfaced, and then wandered out of town as quickly as he came.

Now, Victor can’t seem to fucking control himself. He mopes around the temple all day, and looks at everyone longingly, and wonders where, “his Yuuri,” is. Whatever.

Yuri darts through row after row of haphazardly lined dwellings, and shoves past many villagers. Some of which throw him a stupid fucking knowing kind of look. Others tell him with a smile, “congratulations,” to which he growls, “it wasn’t fucking me.” Because how fucking lame would that be if he and Victor had the same powers?

Yuri tears around the temple, expecting to dart inside and demand answers, only to run directly into his broad chest. Victor’s stance is wide, his body is strong, and as such, Yuri bounces backwards and lands into fresh fallen snow.

The snow soaks through his brilliant purple wedding garment.

“What the fuck Victor?” Yuri says as he tries to haul himself up off the ground. His entire back burns with the cold fire that only comes from underdressed skin on cold snow.

“Ah, Yuri, what is the occasion? Shouldn’t you be cuddled up with your Otabek? Testing your new found gifts?” Victor shoots him a look that is half condescension and half knowing. “You should put on boots. Your toes will freeze.”

“Don’t make this about me,” Yuri shouts and watches his breath come out in cloudy puffs of mist. “It’s early summer. It’s not supposed to snow. You did this hag.”

Victor looks down at the snow, and then back up at Yuri. His soft, and carefree expression crumples into something vulnerable and defeated. “I’m afraid so. An uncontrolled event like this is very bad Yuri, and hasn’t happened to me in years. It cannot happen again.”

“Fucking tell me. It’s the second time this has happened!”

“Yes,” Victor says flatly. “If I could prevent it, I would. To keep this from happening once more, I’m going to look for Yuuri.” He adds quickly, “my Yuuri,” as if Yuri didn’t already know. “Seeing you…with your Otabek. It made me think.”

“Whatever, you just think that it’s okay to leave now because I-“

“You’ll watch over everyone correct?”  Victor interrupts. “What is it that you can do? What is your gift?” His lips twist into a soft knowing smile that makes Yuri want to deck him. “Can you make plants grow? It would really help what I did to the early crop.” Victor’s expression shifts again. “Unless of course….”

“Don’t you fucking say it.”

“The nomad boy didn’t awaken your powers.”

Yuri spent most of the night, as he listened to Otabek snore softly beside him, done things that he thought might have revealed a newly awaked magic within. He touched Otabek’s skin, and waited to feel his emotion. He crept outside, and stared toward the sky waiting for rain. He walked to the hot coals of the fire, and waited for something amazing to happen. However, nothing came.

The fact of the matter was, Yuri didn’t fucking get it. Otabek said he loved him. Yuri’s never been in love before, but that has to be what he feels toward Otabek. Right? No one has ever made his dick so hard. No one has ever _looked_ at him and made him want to get completely fucking naked for no reason at all. That _had_ to count for something.

“That’s not true.” Yuri spits. “How can you even go after someone who doesn’t fucking give a shit about you?” All he did was wander into town, drink their wine, and then leave.

Victor’s hands are large and smooth; he’s never done a day of hard labor in his life. Surprisingly, his grip is strong. He takes Yuri’s chin into his hand. Yuri can feel the way his fingers tremble around his jaw.  “My love for Yuuri is unconditional. Perhaps it’s something you should take note of.” Victor lets go of him as quickly as he grabbed him. His fingers caress the side of his face in silent apology for the outburst. “I cannot let this happen again Yuri. It’s dangerous.”

Yuri wants to tell him that if he’s so powerful, and so well respected, to suck it up and help him figure out what the fuck is wrong with him. Victor’s time is over, he should help him harness and finesse whatever it is that lives inside.  Instead, something meek and broken slips out of his mouth, “what will I do?”

“Well, as demigods, our powers are unpredictable, horribly limited, and often detrimental. It’s not like we’re really needed.” Victor confesses nonchalantly. “So I’m sure everything will be fine. Whether or not you wake up or not.”

Yuri can’t fucking believe what Victor just said. His whole body feels numb, and not just from the cold. He feels smacked around, in only the way that harsh truths that had been buried by half lies and lies to yourself can make you feel.

I’ll be leaving now, so as to not overshadow your magnificent debut as Lihosh. I’ll be taking Makkachin with me. Do mind the temple will you?” And just like that, Victor’s public mask is slapped back into place.

Yuri is acutely aware of the sound of the dog barking, and crunching through the fresh fallen snow. It makes him feel sick. His first inclination is to run back home, but Otabek is there. He doesn’t want such a strong person to see him at his weakest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plugin my tumblr. boxwineconfession.tumblr.com


	3. The Wind

For lack of anything better to do without his husband present, Otabek tries to win the affection of a cat with pale hair and dark face. She rubs herself all over Yuri’s wedding garments which lay about discarded. Then, she rolls upon the furs on the bed, along with the red suede gloves from the night before. She backs away whenever Otabek extends a hand to her.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and tries to call the cat to him. He gestures with his fingers, but still nothing. She avoids his touch, and dives out of the tent when he gets too close.

After the cat takes her leave of him, he goes on to find the clay ovens which Yuri mentioned. He finds them in the village center after a great deal of wandering. He offers the women which tend the ovens coins from foreign lands, they are useless but it’s all that he has. They refuse the coins, but force him to pay with scrutinous and knowing looks. It makes the base of his neck tingle and his cheeks burn hot, because _everyone_ knows what he did with Yuri. He runs back to Yuri’s dwelling as quickly as possible in hopes that Yuri had returned.

He has not.  Otabek goes through Yuri’s store of items, and finds soft cheese. From his own things, he pulls dried fruit.

He waits for his husband. He does not come.

Otabek tends to his horse. He rubs its muscles, and removes its bridle. “Please wait to graze,” he pleads. “The snow should melt soon enough.” She looks at him with soft understanding. She deserves a field of endless green for all that she has endured. She deserves a better master.  

He waits for his husband. He does not come.

Otabek searches the village until his boots are soaked through from the rapidly melting snow.

Otabek finds his husband at the temple. It’s one of the few permanent structures within the village. From the outside, it looks as if it has two floors, and thus it towers over the small tents and huts scattered about. It has a single uncovered window on the second floor, and is made out of bricks of many different shapes and sizes suggesting that it was cobbled together from whatever was on hand.

Otabek has seen more detailed structures in other villages, large smooth and even limestone walls, and window holes filled in with colored glass, and shrines lined with wooden archways, and temples guarded by statues of gold. There’s nothing that denotes this place as special, save for the small stone archway on the outside, and the gifts and offerings which litter the outside pathways.

There are pained stones, and crude dolls crafted from wood, stone, and wool twisted into the shape of cats, and sheep, and dogs. There are little bits of food, and offerings of clay jars and pots, Otabek can only assume that they are filled with wine, or food, or medicines.

It’s quite dark inside.  Otabek is limited to what he can see by the blinding white light that spills in from outside through the door and the window.

Although the building was unassuming from the outside, the interior and its contents take his breath away. He notices that the temple’s beauty is concealed from the outside. An intricate mosaic lines the floor from edge to edge. The pieces of lapis, jade, and agate which lined the bath house are present here as well.

It almost seems cruel to hide such a wonderful and glittering display inside such an unassuming structure

Yuri half draped over the low alter. His knees rest on the ground while his cheek is pressed against the cool stone platform. His arms touch the flat surface of the altar, and his legs are tucked up underneath his body. His eyes are closed, and his mouth moves slowly. Otabek can hear the whisper soft slip of syllables, but he cannot make out what it is that Yuri is saying.

Otabek is acutely aware that he is intruding on something deeply personal and deeply private. He is of two minds. The first, is that he should leave Yuri to his thoughts. The second, this man is his husband, for whom he paid an immense bridewealth and traveled the world to find and to claim. He is entitled to know what it is that troubles him so deeply, and pulls him out of their marital bedchamber.

Otabek cast his eyes downward as he contemplates what course of action is best.

Otabek catches a faint whisper of Yuri’s prayer. “Mama, what do I do?”

Yuri’s eyes flutter open slowly. Otabek sees a sliver of green, then a half moon, and then finally, big wide eyes that are too confused and too vulnerable to act in anger at Otabek’s intrusion.

Perhaps that is more frightening than anything else. Yuri’s temper does not seem to be easily abated.

“Ota-bek,” the syllables slide off his tongue thick like honey. His eyes are cast downward.

Otabek closes the distance between them, and kneels at the altar with Yuri. “Yura,” he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Otabek wants Yuri to understand that he wants nothing more than to be a good husband to him. He wants to please him in all ways. He wants Yuri to tell him not only his hopes and his dreams, but also his fears. He wants to do this without demanding.

Yuri opens up to him slowly. First, he folds himself up into Otabek’s arms. Then, he says with a bitter laugh, “my mom would know what to do right now. She’d know what to say too.”

Otabek does nothing, other than rub his fingers up and down the silken soft flesh of Yuri’s forearm. Such a simple gesture cannot provide true comfort in times like this, but it’s something.

“Yuri, explain,” his husband smells damp and musty like the inside of the temple, he smells smoky like fire. He smells thick, like musk from this morning, like sex. All of it intermingles into something that is neither appealing nor inviting, but Otabek breathes in deeply anyway because it is _Yuri_. “Please.” They’d already had a tense discussion about his power last night. Surely, Yuri would be realistic about his abilities.

“Victor left,” Yuri confesses. His eyes are downcast. Otabek can feel the muscles of his body tighten and recoil, as if speaking his name is physically painful. “Some stupid quest. To find the guy that _he_ fell for.”

“People are going to expect more from you,” Otabek surmises. “Especially now that I am here.” Otabek can feel his stomach drop at the realization. To cause Yuri additional stress is to cut him once again with an even sharper blade.

Otabek presses his fingertips into the tense muscles of Yuri’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to soothe. He has to take _some_ of the pain and the tension away if he can.

“Yeah,” Yuri relaxes again, and melts back into him. He rests his mouth against Otabek’s shoulder, and when Yuri speaks, Otabek can feel hot puffs of breath beneath thin threadbare fabric. “With mom gone, and Victor gone, and Yakov useless, there’s no one else left. Maybe Mila, but she’s just as useless as me as it stands.”

Otabek pulls back from Yuri. It’s difficult when his grip is tight like a vice. Otabek tugs, and be pulls, and he steps back, and finally, he manages to put enough space between himself and Yuri so that they can lock eyes. His nose is red from crying, underneath his eyes are puffy, but there’s something else in his expression. Yuri needs something from Otabek, and Otabek doesn’t know how to provide it.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Otabek says.

Yuri doesn’t respond.

“I’m your Lehin right? It’s my _duty_ to help you. It is my duty to make you fall in love with me,” and then all the work that he did to lock eyes with Yuri is undone.

Yuri’s shoving his face back into his shoulder, and murmuring, “Otabek, you can't just say things like that, especially in the temple.”    

* * *

 

By mid-day, news of Victor’s departure takes the village by storm. Some women cry, others simply disappear to the temple, and others still ask for Yuri’s mother to look over them from the afterlife. Tension in the village is so high that it makes the air grow stagnant. It almost hurts to breathe. All eyes are upon _them_ , but no one directly asks if Yuri has awakened.

The whole thing gives him a rash and makes him want to bolt. Get the sheep, and get his husband, and get the fuck out of the village as quickly as possible. Except, he can’t. Otabek volunteers them to help resew the seed in the fields. Otabek is a quick a study as anyone that hasn’t kept crops can be. He sews too many seeds too closely together. He covers them with too much dirt, or not enough. Yuri confiscates the bag slung over his arm from him, and takes the sewing job on himself.

As they wander down the long rows of the field, Yuri watches Otabek’s boots as they’re gradually coated with soot. He watches his bare toes blacken from the rich soil. They have nothing but awkward and uncertain time, and space between them. Yuri feels as if the pressure is crushing him, and so he turns the pressure onto Otabek. It’s an incredibly cruel thing to do, but he cannot help it. Victor took something small and irritating and stretched the wound until it was bleeding and infected.

The tools with which Yuri has to lance the wound are crude and unsterile.

“So you just want to stay here with me?” Yuri asks. He buries his fingers in a fist full of seed, and loves the way that they fall through his fingers. “Where nobody knows you?” and its strongly implied that nobody trusts him either. Yuri sees the way they look at him. Yuri knows when to place a protective arm around him, and stare them down.

“I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” Otabek offers in response.

“Of course you don’t,” Yuri responds. He tries to hide the hint of a sneer in his voice, but it is difficult when he hurts this much. “You’re a nomad.”

“I had a family and a clan,” Otabek supplies. There’s no malice in his voice. His tone betrays his stone-faced expression, it’s downtrodden like he expected better of Yuri. It’s injured. It’s unsurprised, as if he expected Yuri to bring him down to his own level of misery, despite doing nothing wrong.

It makes Yuri’s stomach sour.

What the fuck is he supposed to do?

Instead of asking Otabek what it is that he can do to best apologize or saying that that he is sorry, Yuri turns to what he knows best. The sheep have grown tired and restless in their pen. He feels the same way. One of the older ewes, Anichka, fell ill due to the cold. Yuri handed her over to grandpa, but asked that he didn’t slaughter her until after he’d gone out to pasture.

For the first time since he started tending sheep when he was thirteen, he takes someone with him. Otabek comes without question, and does not demand an apology.

The days in the valley are long, but build up quickly. He and Otabek talk of everything, and nothing.

* * *

 

“Potya hates me.”

“Potya hates me,” Yuri responds in an unimpressed tone. “I’m never at home. I can’t bring her out here, she’d run away. We’re strangers who live together.”

“Hm,” Otabek agrees flatly.

“I fed her sheep’s milk when she was a baby. From my fingers.”

“She’s not required to feel something for you just because-“

“I know that,” Yuri interrupts.

Talking to Otabek is easy. Talking _with_ Otabek is often difficult. He doesn’t like to speak of himself, or his past. “How many brothers do you have?” Yuri asks.

“Seven older. At least two younger.”

“Were you close?”

“Kehmebek was a man when I was born. Serebek took a second wife right before my trials. His first died in childbirth. He has who had just begun to walk, and so-“

“That’s not what I mean Otabek.”

It’s infuriating in a way, that Otabek told him that they would do this together. He said that they would stand by one another and grow to love one another. Then, he wasn’t even willing to tell him about himself. It pissed Yuri off, especially when he’s already spilled his guts to Otabek.

When all the little bleating bastards are well behaved, and decide to stay put like they’re supposed to, Otabek and Yuri sprawl out onto the grass. They thread their fingers together, and look up at the sky.

Yuri will point at them, “that one looks like an ass. That one looks like your horse. That one looks like Yakov’s face when he’s pissed off.”

To which Otabek will reply, “that one looks like a sheep.”

“Which one.”

“All of them,” which makes Yuri slap him playfully across the chest, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

* * *

 

They spend days on end isolated from the village in the meadow. Or, they wedge themselves onto the craggy patches of grass which slowly fade away into rocky mountain spaces. There are times when days go by without saying a single word to one another. There are days when they cannot stop talking to one another. Otabek has never quite enjoyed speaking. He always took upon solitary activities: night watches and scouting ahead.

It is comforting that Yuri knows just as well as he does, the steady, clarifying silence which he enjoys so much.

It’s even stranger, and more wonderful, how he seems to enjoy speaking with Yuri.

“We can’t pick, that’s the whole fucking point,” Yuri says with a light and airy laugh. “ _We’re chosen_ which is why some of us are left with really shitty powers like snow. Victor could kill us all. But it would be the most anticlimactic death ever. Starvation.”

“I understand, but if you could.”

Yuri answers right away, as if he’d given this a great deal of thought. “Perfect camouflage. I’d press up against anything, and blend in immediately.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Yuri drops to the ground, and lays in a long bed of clover. His favorite lamb, _Otabek the second, immaculately conceived before their wedding night_ , comes and sniffs at his face. “Get away from me. Go see your papa.” He shoos the lamb away. “Anyway,” he props himself up on his elbows. “Perfectly green, with little clover flecks, my skin. You’d never know I was there.”

“You would hunt?”

“No,” Yuri scoffs. “I’d sneak up on people and scare the shit out of them.”

“So much for useful powers,” Otabek notes, harkening back to Yuri’s earlier claim, that he wanted to be useful if and when he found his place among the village’s other Lihosh.

“Whatever, like you’d wish for something noble if you could just pick.”

“Probably,” Otabek reaffirms. “I’ve never known anyone to have such abilities until I came here.”

Yuri holds his arms open wide, gesturing for Otabek to come lie with him in the long clover.

Otabek complies. “But if I could…I wouldn’t mind taking on the form of the guardian spirit of my people. I would protect them, so that they would not have to fight for all that they do and all that they own.”

The wind rakes across both of them, Yuri’s hair brushes against his cheek.

“What is that?” Yuri asks.

“What is what?” Otabek responds.

“The guardian spirit?”

“A bear,” Otabek replies. “A large black bear that leads us back to our homeland.” Otabek gropes for Yuri’s hand without breaking his gaze with the cloudless sky. It’s easier for him to talk about these kinds of things when he isn’t directly looking at Yuri. They are deeply personal. Not to mention, after all it is that he’s been through, he’s still not certain whether or not he believes any of it at all.

“You have a homeland?” Naturally, Yuri sits up, hovers over him, and stares with big blinking green eyes.

“That’s what the legend says,” Otabek supplies with a shrug. He reaches an arm upward, and pulls Yuri back down to his chest. Yuri accepts the touch, and drapes himself across Otabek’s chest. The other man rises and falls with each breath that he takes. Otabek tangles his fingers into Yuri’s long gold locks. “We had a land, and we lost it, not to war, but to time and memory and wanderlust. So we roam the earth looking for it.”

“Hey,” Yuri, pokes him gently on the stomach, inches away from his scar.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Yuri deflects despite instigating the line of conversation.

“It can’t be nothing.”

“Right,” Yuri says. He props himself up on a single shaky hand. Cocks his head to look at Otabek. “What if this was your homeland? What if you’re meant to be here?”

“Not just me,” Otabek supplies. “Them too.”

“We could take more. There can’t be that many of you.” Yuri says. He buries his face into Otabek’s stomach again. “See, it was stupid.”

Otabek felt that it was quite the opposite. It made his heart swell with pride, and love, and melancholy feelings for a lifetime in the past. One that he couldn’t return to. “Not stupid,” he says finally.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Yuri says finally. “I’m glad you want to stay here with me.”

Otabek has forgotten completely. By this point, he has to mentally go through a list of conversations that he and Yuri have had since their ceremony days before. “It’s alright.”

Otabek knows what questions come next. Questions like why he isn’t out roaming the earth, as their lore dictates. Why is he alone, when it’s so dangerous to be alone in this world? So, he stops the question before it even begins. He shifts them once again, so that they’re laying side by side.

Yuri cups his face with his long thin hand. Yuri leans in for a kiss. Otabek deepens it immediately. Kissing Yuri is so much simpler than words. When they’re together, they always know how to use just enough pressure, and just enough tongue to leave each other breathless, and begging for more.

Otabek works his hands up Yuri’s shirt. He immediately finds Yuri’s nipple and tweaks it lightly. It makes Yuri rock up into him, and moan into the kiss, “Beka.” It makes Otabek’s chest swell with pride, at the fact that his husband now feels free to grace him with a pet name.

“We just did it by the stream Yura,” he teases. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re the one who-“ Yuri interrupts himself to work his hand down Otabek’s pants. He takes his cock into his hand, and runs his hand down the length of it.

Otabek groans.

Yuri wrestles himself back on top, and pulls Otabek’s pants down. Otabek’s skin hits cool blades of grass. It’s strange, the way that it feels against his skin, itchy and cool at the same time. The slight discomfort is worth it. He’d go through hell and back to catch more of Yuri’s smile, more of Yuri’s skin, more of Yuri’s pleasure.

Yuri pulls his own pants down and sets his cock free. He knees between Otabek’s legs. “I want to do it this way.”

“Alright.” Otabek feels pride once again. Although Yuri becomes emboldened and more imaginative in their love making each day, it is Otabek that inspires these actions. It is Otabek who teaches him.

Yuri pushes his legs together, and then pushes his knees to his chest. Otabek wonders, if he’d met Yuri under different circumstances…If they’d been wed at any other point in time, if he’d ever let this beautiful fair haired boy do this to him.

Otabek was expected to be dominating, tactical, and in complete control, even among these kinds of affairs.

Yuri slips his cock between his closed thighs.

Everything about being with Yuri, and being near Yuri, is intoxicating like the sweetest of wines. Each thrust, and each drag provides him equal parts pleasure and equal parts frustration. He can feel Yuri push up against his cock with each roll of his thighs, but it’s nothing in comparison to when Otabek takes them both into his hand, and touches them both, or when Yuri takes him into his hand and focuses on his pleasure.

Yuri pistons up into his thighs, over and over again. His skin is slick from sweat, and Yuri’s precome which leaks everywhere onto his skin. Having Yuri like this makes him feel vulnerable and exposed, like going into worlds unknown without his armor or his sword.

Yuri is beautiful when he’s overcome with pleasure. He bites his lips, and makes soft little grunting noises. Yuri, unembarrassed and unafraid, meets his gaze with every thrust. They look into each other and see the truer versions of themselves. They desperately try to reveal these versions all day and all night, but fail to do so successfully. In their wake they leaved botched conversations and abandoned trains of thought.

But now? All of that is stripped away. No magic, no prophecies, no pressure. Just Otabek and Yuri.

Yuri leaves a sticky mess between Otabek’s thighs. Yuri parts Otabek’s legs immediately, and his hand is on Otabek’s cock. Yuri touches him in long rough strokes that are cultivated only by frustrated boys that must move quickly.

Otabek comes into his hand with the cry of, “Yura!” and reaches out to hold his partner.

Yuri has other ideas. He wets his sash in the stream, and cleans them both up. Then, as quickly as it all begins, Yuri’s back to chasing down errant lambs, and swearing at ewes.

Otabek suspects they’ll do this once more at the very least before bed.

* * *

 

Yuri usually rises before him, before the sun comes up even. Otabek is no longer startled when he goes to sleep with his husband curled up around him, and wakes up with nothing but a cold empty spot beside Sometimes there is breakfast. On these days milk, or bread, or grain cooked over the fire with water, and large blackberries swollen and burgeoning with juice are laid out for him. Sometimes, Yuri is simply gone.

He’ll return well after breakfast with fists full of feathers, or wild flowers, or berries. One morning he returned with a pair of deer’s antlers, another, a full snakeskin. When this happens, Yuri is unlikely to return until close to mid-day. Otabek dislikes these mornings most of all. His chest tightens with worry that something has happened to his husband, and he was unable to protect him.

He wishes that Yuri would wake him, and bring him with him.  Yuri must have good reason for leaving him behind…

Yuri answers this implicit question with a very explicit response. The sun has barely risen across the horizon. The sheep stand perfectly still, and dot the uneven terrain in a cascading pattern. Little lambs are tucked up underneath them all.

Yuri nudges him awake with his bare foot.

Otabek rolls over, and is met with the most beautiful sight. Yuri is standing above him, and smiling at him. It’s not a half smile, or something that he catches during a stolen glance.  It’s something direct, and solely meant for him. The sun casts him in shadow, and Otabek can see little more than wide green eyes and white teeth.

“Got you something,” he supplies in quick explanation. Yuri thrusts a small lump of warm down into his hand. It takes him a moment to fully understand. Large eyes too big for its small frame, sharp beak, pointed feet that would someday grow into talons which would shred, useless stumps of wings that would someday sprout feathers and soar.

Otabek holds a small goshawk chick in his hand. The creature blinks at him a few times as he blinks at it, both stare at one another in confusion and rapt fascination.

“I don’t think it’s imprinted yet. It needs to be fed.” To which Yuri extracts a lizard from somewhere within his robes and thrusts it into his other hand. Yuri then tells him, “You’ll have to like, chop it up into tiny pieces and feed it to her,” before stomping off to stoke the embers of the cook fire.

Otabek does as he says, and grinds the food to a paste with his small knife, and does his best to feed the bird. “How did you get her?”

“I found it on the ground. I couldn’t climb up high enough to get it back into the nest. I thought maybe,” Yuri’s breath hitches. “Maybe you needed it.”

* * *

 

At the very least, Victor’s absence means he has someone who isn’t a complete fuckwit to shear sheep with. His husband knows how to take instruction.

Otabek holds back the lambs while Yuri directs the ewes into the water one by one. He washes them clean in the stream, and only falls flat on his ass twice into the water in the process. Afterward, Otabek holds while he shears.

If he were doing this with Victor, he’d have to contend with that fucking dog bouncing around. Victor would get distracted, and inevitably the ewe would break away meaning that Yuri would have to chase it down. It usually took him and Victor three whole days to do the shearing.

With Otabek, it takes one.

Yuri begins at the belly, cutting long tufts of wool. Then, he moves to the sheep’s flanks, and then upward. Otabek wordlessly moves the animals and dodges kicks, and never yelps, even when they nip at his skin and not just his shirt.

Yuri spreads wide, off white colored sheets of wool out with wide arms. He shakes the bits of grass and dirt that always gather during shearing. The wool looks golden in the thick tawny air of twilight. He smells of sheep. He tastes _sheep_ thick in his mouth. Yet and still, Otabek stands by his side and kisses him as if they were as clean as they were on their wedding night.

“We make a good team,” Yuri says when they part.

“Yes we do,” Otabek agrees.

* * *

 

Yuri trades his shares of the wool for bits of animal hide. Otabek looks at him with a pained expression and says that he no longer owns an awl. So Yuri trades some of the mushrooms and dried plants which he picks out in the field for an awl shaped out bone.

With it, Otabek crafts himself a hood for the bird to keep it calm whenever she is not in free flight. He also crafts a thick leather glove, to which he may tie the bird whenever she returns to him.

“What will you name her?”

“Name?” He knows that Yuri names his animals. There’s Potya the cat, and Ada and Anichka and all of Yuri’s Ewes. There’s Ansil the ram, and Makkachin the dog, although he belongs to Victor. Otabek has had the horse since he was a boy, but he’s never considered naming it, “It’s not my daughter. It does not need a name.”

“Seriously?” Yuri huffs. “That’s so dull.” So Yuri names the bird Cyne on his behalf. Yuri tells him that the name means _feather_.

“You make my bridewealth seem inadequate.” Otabek knows that these gifts were not easy to procure. Yuri, despite his position of power and status, has limited resources, just like everyone else in the village. Otabek’s true envy, stems not from their inherent value, but the thought put into each.

Otabek amassed items that he _thought_ Yuri would like.

Yuri amassed items that he _knew_ Otabek would like, through learning to know him as his husband.

Otabek thought that he had fallen in love with Yuri, the boy who cared for him until his fever broke. However, as the days progress, Otabek understands that he must grow to love the man that sleeps next to him each night underneath the stars. If he had done that before marriage, the gifts would have been quite different. He’d procure for Yuri spices, with which he could season the mealy grain they eat at night. Yuri spends what is left of his own wages on salt, and constantly gathers herbs as they roam. Otabek has seen him knock one of his beloved ewes out of the way to get a sprig of rosemary before the animal did.

He’d bring from lands far away, bells to tie to Yuri while he danced, or a small rhythm instrument to play.

He’d bring Yuri a kitten, or a pair of geese to raise with his flock, or a goat. Yuri seemed to hate humans, and snap at them without warning or merit. Yuri loved animals. He spoke to them in soft hushed tones with which most would never assume that Yuri was capable.

Perhaps the greatest gift that Yuri gives, one which he could never repay, is the way that Yuri allows him to see him like this when no one else can. Each soft whisper to a lamb, or absent minded pat on a ewe’s head, feels as if it was crafted and given to Otabek and Otabek alone.

That was something that Otabek could repay in kind. For that, he is grateful.

* * *

 

Yuri prefers to hide in the shade in the summer sun. Otherwise his skin turns bright red. If that happens, Yuri will spend a day or so in agony, and won’t allow Otabek to touch him. Then, Yuri rolls around in their bedroll until Otabek scratches his skin. Then, it peels. After, Yuri’s skin is dappled with soft brown patches that dot his skin like constellations in the night sky.

Although the few days without touching Yuri are agony, the end result somehow makes Yuri look even more beautiful.

Several days ago Cyne caught a hare mid-day, and Otabek stewed it over the fire with wild carrots. Yuri ate voraciously, and then fell asleep in the field next one of the older ewes. He would not move, even when Otabek poked his ribs, and ghosted kisses along his collar bones.

In the present, Yuri is leaning against the shade tree, when Otabek decides that he’ll kiss each new mark from Yuri’s most recent burn.

Otabek starts at the bridge of his nose with a light peck. Then, his lips graze the ridge of his cheek bones.

“Hey,” Yuri huffs. He doesn’t pull away from the kisses, even when Otabek gets the mole above his eyebrow. “Where the fuck is the brutal nomad I married? Killed a man for a bracelet, or whatever.”

Otabek’s body tenses at the words. However, he senses the playfulness in Yuri’s voice, and therefore, he simply presses onward, refusing to twist the words in a way that are ugly and harmful. He pulls Yuri’s shirt to the side, and kisses the line where Yuri’s skin fades from golden to pale. “You know, I never did that because I wanted to.”

“Hey, hey hey!” Yuri tilts his chin up, and slots his chapped lips over Otabek’s “don’t take it like that.”

Otabek deepens the kiss. He traces the line of Yuri’s lips, and dips his tongue inside. Then, as quickly as it all begins, Otabek pulls away. He’s on a mission to trace every sun kissed place on Yuri’s body with a kiss of his own. “I didn’t. I have better things to do.”  

Yuri is always trying to distract him. Yuri threads his fingers into Otabek’s hair, which is getting longer by the day. He’ll have to ask Yuri to cut it for him.

Yuri leans back into Otabek, trying to seal his lips once again. Otabek pulls back, only to return to the spot on Yuri’s collarbone. Otabek kisses the spot first, and then decides that it isn’t enough. Although he cannot directly challenge the sun for possession of Yuri, he can undo or override the marks she leaves on his skin.

Otabek sucks a soft, blush colored mark onto Yuri’s collar bone. He watches the bruised skin puff up and redden under his lips and his teeth and his tongue. All of course, to the delicious sound of Yuri biting his lip, and murmuring, “ah-not fair.“  Yuri wraps his arms around his waist, and stuffs his hands down his pants. He kneads the firm flesh of Otabek’s ass, and Otabek growls into the kiss.

“You’re the one who keeps interrupting me.”

“It’s not an interruption-“ Yuri yanks his pants down. Yuri quickly undoes the draw string on his own pants, and desperately tries to rut their lengths together.

The pull and the drag of Yuri’s soft skin against his own is addictive. It would be so easy to get lost in Yuri’s touch, and Yuri’s fervor, and simply let him have his way. Except, Otabek has so much he wants to teach Yuri.

“I’m trying to make love to my husband,” Otabek grabs Yuri’s arms, takes both wrists into his hands, and pins him to the tree. “He keeps interrupting me by rutting up against me like an animal in heat.”

“I can’t help it,” Yuri pouts. Otabek knows this tactic too. He’s grown accustomed to it when Yuri snuggles close to him at the cook fire. This typically happens when Yuri has already scarfed down his own food, and Otabek has taken the time to eat his own food slowly. He waits for Otabek to offer him the last few bites.

Unlike at the cook fire, Otabek does not let Yuri have his fill right away. Otabek works his knee between Yuri’s thigh, and for a moment, he does nothing other than watch him press his length against his leg. 

“C’mon, Beka.”

Otabek continues to be a passive participant in Yuri’s undoing. He lifts up Yuri’s shirt, so that he can see every thrust. Otabek peels his shirt away, and lets go of Yuri’s wrists. Automatically, Yuri strips himself the rest of the way down.

“If my back gets fucked up because of the bark...”

“Relax,” Otabek cradles Yuri’s back so that it does not hit the rough bark of the shade tree. “I want to show you something.”

“You _always_ have something you think that’s good to show me,” Yuri purrs. He wraps his arms around Otabek’s neck, and Otabek cannot help but kiss Yuri, sloppy and open mouthed. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Otabek doesn’t say anything else. He simply nudges his cock between Yuri’s closed thighs, and watches is partner shudder as he fucks up into him.

Yuri’s fingernails dig lightly into his bare skin, and so Otabek does it again. He revels in the way that Yuri sucks in air. He loves the way that Yuri’s jaw goes slack. “Good?” But Otabek doesn’t relent and wait for a response. He readjusts the positioning, so that he can graze Yuri’s cock slightly with his own.

“You-ah-always-make-me-ah-be the woman.”

“No,” Otabek explains. “We could,” Otabek interrupts himself to thrust up into Yuri’s soft muscular skin again. Yuri’s thighs are too soft, and too addictive for a laborer that works outdoors all day. “Like that. Different though.”  He moves a hand down Yuri’s body, and touches lightly at his hole.

“The fuck?” Yuri’s confusion never stops him from meeting Otabek thrust for thrust.

“I’d –ah- make it good for you.” Otabek insists. “Get some salve.”

“Stop talking. God you go fucking weeks without talking so much. “ Yuri’s skin from his cheeks to his chest is tinged red as if he’d been out in the sun.

“Slide right in,” Otabek continues. Yuri, lithe and flexible was made for such things. He would love it so much.

Otabek moves his hand around, and presses his fingers to Yuri’s mouth. Yuri is too fucked out to notice or complain about where his hand has just been. He accepts the finger completely, and coats it in saliva. Then, Otabek works his hand back around Yuri’s body. He sinks a single digit inside of Yuri.

Yuri hisses at the contact.

Yuri bit his lip in concentration and frustration. Otabek could feel him, aching and hard pressed against his stomach. That, combined with the wet hot feeling clamped around his finger was too much. It all sends Otabek over the edge immediately. Then, without removing his finger, he takes Yuri into his rough hand, and pumps his cock relentlessly. He wants him to come with the idea fresh in his mind. Wants Yuri to have difficulty falling asleep tonight because he is thinking about it. He wants Yuri to roll over on their bed roll, press against him hard and needy, and beg for it again.

Yuri spills in his hand with a shout.

* * *

 

“How do we make the, um…” Yuri’s blush is deep. He refuses to meet Otabek’s gaze. “The salve. What do we put into it?”

Otabek looks at his husband with a smile. Not one of want, or need, but genuine fondness. Although Yuri openly wants him, and openly addresses him as “my husband,” every smack of affection feels as if it is hard won.

“It will take awhile to procure the ingredients,” Otabek says dryly. He can tell that his expression betrays him. He appears overeager and lustful to his husband. How could he not when he considered what Yuri was offering? “If you wanted to, you could help me.”

“Yeah,” Yuri responds. His skin is red, as if he’d been out in the sun all day. He has not. “Sure thing.”

* * *

 

“You aren’t very smart are you,” Yuri says. He has his small silver knife in hand. Otabek sits upon a large flat piece of limestone. Yuri kneels behind him. The sun is bright again today, and sitting upon the white stone is almost blinding. Yuri will retreat into the shade as soon as they are finished here.

“You would be concerned if I did not yet trust you completely,” Otabek responds. He no longer wears his chest armor, only the long gauntlet with which Cyne can land upon. His hair is too long on the bottom, and it needs to be cut. He used to trust his older brother with this task. Now, he only trusts Yuri.

Otabek can hear the clink of the knife’s sheath on the rock nearby. Yuri’s touch is feather light against his neck for a moment. Then, as if he were an ewe, he takes a fist full of his hair, and runs the blade of the knife underneath his balled up fist.

The pressure of Yuri’s hands buried tight in his hair, followed by the release of the blade is strange and infuriating. Otabek can feel the tickle of small hairs spilling down his neck and back afterward. They get caught between his shirt and his skin, and feel like pins and needles when he sits for too long.

Yuri repeats these actions, grip and cut, grip and cut, until he can feel a marked difference. The breeze skirts across his almost bare skin, and makes his neck pebble with gooseflesh.

Yuri moves around to his front, and scrutinizes him carefully. He moves in to trim errant hairs. Yuri brandishes the knife close to his ears, and his temple, but he does not flinch once. “You’re done,” he says finally.

“How do I look?”

“Really good,” Yuri says finally. He sheathes his knife, and mumbles under his breath, “you always look really good. “

“Thank you,” Otabek responds simply. He rises, and strips his shirt off. Then, his pants are next. Otabek strides completely nude the length of the pasture to the stream in hopes that the display entices Yuri.

Yuri certainly notices. Otabek can feel the weight of Yuri’s eyes upon him. It makes his chest swell with pride. It makes his cock twitch overeagerly, for he hasn’t even been touched yet. “What the fuck are you doing asshole? It’s cold.”

“I need to wash.” Otabek looks over his shoulder at Yuri as he walks into the stream. Yuri is correct. The water is icy. The weather is changing. He and Yuri spend nights huddled even closer than before. When they travel back to the village, the grains are taller. In the morning, he can see the puffs of their breaths. They have to bring furs out to the pasture with them to sleep.

He knows for a fact that it is something that weighs heavy on Yuri’s mind. As winter approaches there is no Victor to hold back the change of seasons. He knows for a fact, that he can do nothing other than provide distraction after distraction and hope that he succeeds.

Yesterday, he trailed kisses down Yuri’s stomach, and then took his cock into his mouth. The distraction was well intentioned, but did not last long enough. Yuri came immediately. This morning, he did his best to remedy yesterday’s attempt by backing away every time Yuri fisted his hair in tight handfuls, or started twitching. He drove Yuri absolutely wild, until he was begging to come.

This afternoon? Otabek strides to the middle of the stream where the water is deeper, just past his knees. It’s not deep enough to bathe properly. He takes Yuri’s wineskin in with him, fills it, and dumps the icy cold water over his head.

“Join me Yura, I’m sure you smell.” That always got him properly red faced and fuming. As he speaks, he tries to hide the way that his teeth chatter.

“No fucking way.”

Otabek fills the wineskin again, and douses himself. Then, he leaves the stream. Walking, still naked, back to Yuri. “Warm me up,” he says reaching out for Yuri.

“No fucking way!” Yuri hops down from his perch atop the rock and bolts.

Otabek follows suit. His movements are purposefully slower. He could easily catch up with Yuri if he wished as much. “Yuri please,” Otabek begs. “I need my husband.”

* * *

“Where did you get the mortar from Yura?” With Yuri’s help, they’ve collected all of the ingredients needed for the salve. Otabek cannot remember the proportions exactly, but he knows that he has to grind the white sticky root vegetables that grow in the fields into a fine paste. He knows that he has to let the pulp set for a time. He has to strain everything through a thin cloth.

Otabek taps the stone mortar against partially ground plants as he talks. He reaches for fistfuls of wild flowers, which he knows are added for fragrance as well as their medicinal properties. They aid with sensation, and make everything easier.

“Nowhere,” Yuri insists.

“Somewhere,” Otabek hums. Yuri does this at times, he withholds information if he perceives it to be embarrassing.

“I grabbed it out of my grandpa’s tent. Okay?”

Otabek drops the mortar. It clinks against the pestle, and rolls to the ground. “Oh.”

“Right,” Yuri responds with a huff, “but you had to know.”

Otabek adds water from the wineskin into a clay container. He adds the concoction to the water, and stirs it with a long thin instrument made of silver. “Did this come from the temple?”

“Yes,” Yuri offers the information freely. It’s strange, but so very much like Yuri, to be bothered by one and not the other. “How long until it’s ready.”

Otabek puts a lid on the sticky sweet scented poultice. “A week or so.”

“Oh,” and there is a hint of disappointment in his voice. Otabek isn’t particularly sure why. They have plenty to do in the meantime.

* * *

Otabek stands on the ridge near the base of the mountain that Yuri calls Moss. He looks down past the village, and into the valley, and towards the mountains far beyond. The air is crisp on his tongue, and it cuts through the purple mountain sky, whips to the back of his nose, and wakes him up from the cloud of love haze he lives in with Yuri.

In this moment, he remembers that he is Otabek Altin, one son of many.

Cyne circles above. Her cries are harsh, and break through the still and unwavering quiet of the village like a stone shattering glass. Each time she screeches, it makes Otabek’s chest tighten. The wild cries of a captive animal are not to be taken lightly. He holds no false conceptions about his relationship with bird. She stays, but only because it is beneficial for her.

Cyne circles, and he extends his arm. She lands in one graceful, slow decent. She flaps her wings as she clamps onto his glove. The gust pushes his hair back. Today, she’s brought him a large hare. He’ll cook it up and have it ready for whenever Yuri comes back from his morning trek.

As she lands, Otabek notices a long, hair tangled within her talons. It’s coarse, and thin, like a horse’s hair. Otabek furrows his brow as he extracts the hair from between her feet. Although it is highly unlikely, he knows someone who rides a horse hair of white. Someone he did not wish to see right now.

Otabek cuts large chunks of meat from the animal’s flank. He watches Cyne tear apart the bits of meat, and let them slide down her gullet. Otabek has killed men before. The sight of an animal should not bother him so. Yet, his stomach twists and turns.

He is Otabek Altin, one son of many. The disgraced son, never to be spoken of or heard from again. Otabek had assumed that he had been excused from taking responsibility for his past.

Now? Perhaps it is not the case.

 


	4. How Can I Tell You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to @kinogloworm for schooling me in yurtology

“Do you like her?”

Otabek can remember turning twelve, and being presented with his horse black as night from main to tail. She was just a foal then, unbroken and wild like they were.

“Yes,” Otebek responds. His mouth felt thick with spit knowing that accepting this gift meant two things. First, he was only thirteen short moons away from his first trials. The thought caught his stomach and tied his insides up in knots. Second, such a wonderful gift did not come without a price.

“I have her twin. He’s all white. His hair, his body, even his hooves,” his childhood friend speaks excitedly. He thrusts the rope, which is tied around the horse’s neck, into his hand. “My father says that they were born of magic, one all black, and one all white. When they’re grown, and we’re married, we can ride them together.”

“Married?” Otabek turns the syllables over in his mouth slowly, not sure if he likes or dislikes them. Perhaps, he feels indifferent at best.

The other boy smiles at him impossibly widely. It shows his teeth, which Otabek always found a bit unnerving. “Yeah. When I’m done with my trials, and you’re done with your trials, and we’re both men. We’re getting married. You’ll come live with me. Neat huh?”

“And Isabella,” Otabek said in addition. In that moment, when the cold winter air bit at his fingertips, and at his nose, and the snow crunched under his feet, and he reached out to touch the horse’s nose, he was of two minds. The thought of leaving his family, of never seeing Kemehebek or Senebek again made him dizzy. On the other hand, he would have his own mount now, and would no longer have to share a horse with Kemehbek’s son.

Otabek accepted the gift, and raised her with the utmost of care. When it came time to break her, she did not fight much, but accepted him easily. It was strange, because she always brayed and nipped at others when they were near, even his third brother Baltabek, who was notoriously good with animals.

* * *

 

Otabek remembers the first time he saw the white stallion in person.

Jean rides in on it on the right hand side of the Patriarch of the Leroy clan. Otabek’s own father regards the Leroy clan as their closest allies, and as such, the two clans vow to raid the Eyln kingdom for their immense shares of grain, and gold, and women.

Otabek, not yet a man in his father’s eyes, had been forbade to participate. He had failed his trials, and although years had gone by he was doomed to be viewed as a child forever. It is his task to stay behind with the adolescent boys and protect the women, children, and elderly if the worst occurred and the kingdom overcame their combined forces.

Although it had been over a long time they had seen one another, Jean greets him too warmly.  Jean leaps off of his horse, and kisses him full on the lips in front of his older brothers. Their laugher ruined any fraction of enjoyment he could’ve gotten from the kiss. “Show me the mare,” Jean insisted with a childish candor that was not suited for riding off into a blood bath in a few days’ time. Their places should have been reversed.

Otabek walks with Jean and the stallion to where the black mare grazes. The reunited siblings whinny at one another, toss their manes, and nuzzle one another.

Jean keeps on kissing him, and Otabek allows it because it feels good.  

“I really like you,” Jean breathes hotly into his ear. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Otabek pulls away. Although Jean’s attention certainly _affected_ him, he cannot not marry him. His flesh burns from the stinging blade of a boy that he loves. His flesh burns from the stinging blade of a boy that he so desperately yearns to see again. Certainly, Jean must know something of this. Even as children, he spoke of no one other than Isabella.

“Won’t Isabella be upset?” They’d married not long after Jean completed his own trials, and took his side by his father in battle. News of the ceremony reached their clan, and father had his fourth and fifth brothers Daniyarbek Kuanyshbek ride off to meet them with coins of gold to celebrate. Otabek was not allowed to go, due to his failure and maiming.

“Not at all,” Jean loops his hands around his waist and pulls him closer. “She’s the strongest warrior in our clan. Stronger than me. She killed six men during our last raid. We cannot even consummate the marriage, for fear that she’d become pregnant and unable to fight.” Jean kisses him again. His lips are chapped, and his mouth is warm. “I’m going to join her in battle. We’re going to bring victory together, and then we’ll be inseparable.” Jean traces the line of his mouth with his tongue, and it makes Otabek gasp. “I need you, Beka.”

Otabek tells himself that he should wait. That he _isn’t_ going to marry Jean, and he _shouldn’t_ do this with him. He should save himself for Yuri, but…But he is not strong enough to go and find him. His wound still aches, and he has not yet become a man yet in his father’s eyes.

Then, Jean’s hands work at the straps of his armor. Artfully, he undoes the clasps, and sheds it onto the grass. He rakes his hands down Otabek’s back, and leaves fire in his wake. Otabek had no idea that the touch of another could make him feel this way.

“Otabek, please,” but he doesn’t know what it is that Jean is asking for. All he knows is that he’s never been this hard in his life. All he knows is that perhaps he was wrong to conflate his feelings of love with the fair-haired with the raw and immediate presence of Jean palming his cock underneath his thin threadbare pants.

He mirrors Jean’s movements. He nips at his neck and his ears, and watches his pale skin blossom red. He runs his own hand up underneath Jean’s shirt. He rocks into Jean when he ruts his own length against his thigh.

Then, Jean’s tugging his pants down and dropping to his knees. Otabek felt as if the whole world slowed down when Jean took him into his mouth. For a moment, everything felt good. He forgot about the fair haired boy who left him scarred, and who changed his life irrevocably. Otabek threads his fingers into Jean’s hair, and pushes himself further into Jean’s mouth.  

* * *

 

“What’d she bring us?” Yuri’s whole body lights up upon his return. Yuri leaps from the low branch on which he was perched on the willow tree, and gestures to the game Otabek has slung over his shoulder. His smile is spread across his face, and pulls at the corner of his eyes.

Otabek slings the hare that he has tied up around so that Yuri can see it. Cyne did well today. A large buck that surely took all of her energy. He must let her feast before they take their fill of the food.

He leaps from the low branch on which he was perched on the willow tree, and gestures to the game he has slung over his shoulder. His smile is spread across his face, and pulls at the corner of his eyes.

It’s colder now, and so he has soft skin shoes strapped to his feet. Yuri runs up to meet him, and his movements are awkward and lopsided because of the shoes. Yuri trips over his own feet, and stumbles in the grass.

Otabek drops the hare to the ground immediately, and steadies Yuri, one hand at the waist and the other grabbing onto his arm.

“Look what I got.” Yuri throws the satchel he keeps over his arm between them. With a grin he holds open the bag revealing several bunches of the tough leafy greens that Yuri liked to cook down with anima fat. There are also some long white parsnips, which is surprising. Whenever they move the sheep into a new area the tops are the first to go, making them quite difficult to find.  

It is difficult to be troubled when Yuri is so close that he can feel the rise and fall of his chest. Yuri slots their lips together. The kiss is feather light, and then Yuri pulls back slightly. His face is flush from the cold and his gaze is cast downward “All of this will take a while to cook won’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“We need something to do while we wait, right?” Yuri digs his boot clad toe into the dry grass. He steals furtive glances of the crude pole tent they’d brought with them. It’s filled with furs, and when he and Yuri are both nested inside, it becomes quite warm.

“It’s been seven days hasn’t it?” He loves Yuri’s eagerness as much as he loves his apprehension. His husband has difficulties asking for things directly if he finds them embarrassing. He’s more than willing to be direct.

“Yeah,” Yuri says with a huff.

“I’ll butcher this. You can chop the vegetables.” But butchering the hare and feeding Cyne will take longer. “When you’re finished, you can get the bed warm for us.”

Yuri’s knifework is jagged and uneven. He huffs and puffs under his breath, and Otabek finds it to be the most endearing thing that he’s ever seen. “Who the fuck do you think that you are? Talking to me like that?” The blush across his face is dark crimson.

“Your husband of course.”

* * *

 

Jean spends the night at his father’s side around the campfire. Otabek spends the night at his father’s side on the opposite end of the campfire. He can feel the hot and heavy burden of Jean’s gaze upon him all night. It waivers only when Isabella whispers something into his ear, and then the heavy gaze is interrupted by Jean’s deep booming laughter. There is no escaping his presence, but Otabek finds that he did not want to. Having Jean want him makes him forget his current circumstances, if not but for a moment.

Otabek looks away for a split second, only to see Jean gone from the other side of the camp fire.

Otabek rises, walks a few shaky and wine addled steps toward the Leroy clan’s side of the fire, and runs into a smooth leather breastplate. “Can we get out of here?” Jean’s voice is shaky. The pupils of his eyes are dilated narrow despite the fact that it’ pitch black save for the fire. “If I have to listen to my father tell one more story about the glory of battle, I’m going to be sick.”

Which did not bode well for Jean’s role in the upcoming battle.

Otabek feels a strong arm loop around his waist.

“Of course.” Otabek knows that his older brother had set up a tent for their honored guests, and so he tears into it, only to find Kemhebek sitting with a member of Jean’s clan smoking out of a short clay pipe. He looks from one man to the other, his face red and hot with embarrassment. Although much taller than he is by now, Jean hides behind him with his hand upon his hip. Even in shame, he cannot conceal his excitement, and breathes puffs of hot air that send cool shivers down his spine as he hides.

“It’s alright,” Kemebek says with a smile. “We were just leaving,” and he gestures to the member of Jean’s clan. They rise together, and exit the tent leaving him here, concealed, alone, with Jean.

* * *

 

Otabek re-enters the tent to find Yuri already completely naked. His skin is covered in gooseflesh despite the roaring fire they have going in the middle. Grey smoke rises to the opening in the top of the dwelling, and obscures his view fully. Although Otabek has seen his husband nude many times before, it feels different this time because he’s going to have all of Yuri now.

“Stop staring at me,” Yuri insists. The deep blush is back. Of course, Yuri, in direct opposition to what he says, rolls over, so that he’s turned on his side, and Otabek can see all of him now. His cock is already hard, and bobs against his stomach. His nipples are pebbled and firm against the cold air.

Yuri rakes his long thin hands across several of the pelts, and stares at him with wide expectant eyes. As much as he tries Yuri can never keep up disinterested demeanor for very long, and it shows in the way that Yuri looks at him with hunger and anticipation.

 Otabek doesn’t know what to do, other than he wants all of Yuri at once.

* * *

Things go much like they did out in the fields. Their armor is gone, and Jean’s got his hand rucked up underneath his shirt. He’s palming his cock through his pants, and then just as quickly as Jean’s affections began, he stops. He presses his face to Otabek’s chest, and in a moment, everything feels still. There’s nothing but the feeling of fur against skin where his clothes are pushed high, and the weight of Jean against him. The scent of fire hangs thickly in the air.

A soft sob catches in Jean’s throat. It sounds deafening over all other noises from the party outside.

A thin sliver of moonlight catches in the gaps of the animal hide which forms the tent. It illuminates the crown of Jean’s head. Otabek threads his fingers into the coal black hair. “I’m scared Otabek,” and it’s a far cry from the things that Jean said to him earlier.

“I know,” Otabek says simply. He crooks his fingers around Jean’s chin and forces his friend to lock eyes with his own. “It’s alright.” Big fat tears have welled up in the corner of Jean’s eyes. His expression is pinched, as if he desperately wants to keep them on the precipice of falling in the corner of his eyes. Where Otabek was hesitant before, all shred of doubt is erased. If only because he himself is so grateful that he failed his trials, and that he is excluded. If _this_ of all things can provide Jean with comfort, then he’ll do it without hesitation.

Just for tonight. 

Otabek kisses him. Where before, he was passive and let Jean explore his body freely, now Otabek is passionate and forceful. He presses his mouth against Jean’s and nips at his mouth when they part. He buries his face into the crook of his neck, and apples pressure with his teeth and his lips. Jean had intended them to ride into battle together. Otabek is not sentimental, but he supposes that Jean is. Maybe the marks that he leaves on his neck will serve as a reminder that Jean doesn’t ride alone.

Before Otabek understands what’s going on, they’re completely naked. Jean is back on top of him and touching him everywhere. He isn’t rough with his body so much as he is demanding. He elicits multiple sensations from multiple places, and assumes that Otabek will be able to keep up with him. He kisses against his neck and his shoulder. He pinches his nipples until the pleasurable electric jolt sensation which it brought fades to a dull ache. He smooths his hands across his stomach and his hips. Then, he’s pressing his cock against his ass and asking in a voice that’s so scrapped raw, and begging, “Otabek please.”

Otabek knows that even if the gods are willing and gracious, and Jean survives, he will not marry him. There will be nothing to consummate. Although Otabek does not love him, the thought of Jean, with a wife that he could not touch, and a husband that would not be known to this world in a few days’ time is heartbreaking.

So he says yes, without hesitation.

He knows there _must_ be some of the stuff in here somewhere. That is simply the nature of these things.  So Otabek gropes around between the furs, and in the spaces in between. He finds discarded pipes, and snuff boxes, and wineskins. Finally, he clasps his hands around a container and loops his fingers around the cork stopper.

He pulls the cork with a loud _pop_ , and then coats Jean’s cock with it.

Jean goes boneless underneath his touch. He melts into the furs as he strokes him in long firm tugs down his entire length. The distinctive scent of the salve fills the tent and intermingles with the smell of smoke.

After several strokes, Jean grabs him by the wrist. He turns them over, so that Otabek is on his side, and Jean’s pressed up against him breathing hotly into his ear and saying all sorts of things in the distinctive dialect of his people. He pushes into Otabek.

It is quite possibly the greatest pain that Otabek has ever experienced, and he says this having been nearly stabbed to death.

Between Jean’s hot words, and the effects of the salve, the pain is lessened soon enough. Jean fucks into him slowly, torturously, as if he doesn’t want to come. As if he doesn’t want the moment to end.

Otabek feels split open wide, but every time that Jean pushes in deeper, he hits something _deep_ inside that forces pleasure out of him, and commands that Jean press back into him.

He can remember Jean coming with a cry. Then, Jean turns him onto his back. Jean covers his palm in more salve, and worked Otabek’s cock until he comes.  Otabek could see the sliver of the moon through the hole in the top of tent.

* * *

“I’m sorry, I just,” Otabek swallows thickly, but his mouth is dry. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Right,” Yuri scoffs, turns to his side slightly, and gives his cock a long lazy pump. “Standing there is really going to help you with that.”

It’s four steps from the entrance of the tent to the bed. One step for Otabek to lose the leather falconer’s glove. Another step for him to awkwardly step out of his boots. He loses balance, and steps to the side, putting one more arduous pace between himself and Yuri. One step to unlatch his armor and thick winter tunic, and another step to pull at his pants.

Otabek sinks onto the pile of furs, and Yuri melts into him immediately. Otabek moves his hands across the expanse of Yuri’s back, and down his sides, and rests them on his hips, trying to soothe his cool gooseflesh covered skin.

Yuri kisses him, and it makes his chest swell with pride. It was him that taught Yuri how to kiss with sloppy open mouthed kisses on their wedding night. It was him that taught Yuri frantic forceful kisses on their first morning together. It was him taught Yuri tender kisses in the field. It was him that taught Yuri playful kisses after they’d made love. Yuri has been a quick study, and has learned, applied, and reworked all of this knowledge. He’s perfected what Otabek brought into the relationship, and it makes his knees weak every time.

Yuri presses their lips together, and then pulls back. Otabek chases him forward. Yuri crashes into him and kisses his passionately. Yuri allows him to have his fill.

Otabek demands to deepen the kiss instantly. He presses his tongue against Yuri’s, and of course Yuri rises up to meet him where he is. He kisses back just as fiercely, but doesn’t fight him for dominance of their touches.

The way they kiss is intimate and familiar, needy and loving. Otabek has ached for this for so long.

Yuri does escalate their contact. Otabek is grateful. He could easily become lost in merely kissing Yuri. Yuri slides their cocks together, and pumps his hand over their lengths. The friction of Yuri’s touch and Yuri’s cock makes him moan out softly, “Yura,” as they break the kiss.

Yuri chases him, and nips him playfully on the lower lip.  Yuri taunts him, in only the way that Yuri can. He flashes him the smirk of a privileged child that was never told “no” alongside the raised eyebrow of a man who knows how much power that he holds. “So, are you going to do me, or not?”

Otabek presses him back down and starts trailing kisses across his skin: his neck, his collar bones, he ghosts his tongue across his nipples, and revels in the feeling of Yuri writhing against him. “C’mon Beka,” he playfully slaps his shoulder. You’re not the only one that’s been waiting.

Otabek pulls off of Yuri’s left nipple, and smooths his fingers over the damp and teased skin. “I want to do this right.”

To which Yuri whimpers in response.

Otabek continues to kiss down his chest and his stomach, and looks up only at Yuri when he reaches the soft blonde curls that dust the space from his bellybutton to his cock. “Can you hand it to me?”

“Fucking finally.” Yuri reaches back behind them, and grabs the vessel. Yuri sits up, and undoes the lid of the container. Immediately the smell of rosemary and crushed wildflowers fills the dwelling. Otabek has to consciously banish any shred of memory associated with this smell or this scenario from his brain. Today, he starts anew with his husband Yuri.

“Yura,” Otabek can feel his voice catch when Yuri offers him the clay pot. “Even with the salve, this will probably cause you a great deal of pain.”

Yuri responds with a certain air of annoyance. Yuri is upset that he’s been questioned, and that makes him double down on what he’s just said. “I know that from whenever you jam your fingers into my ass.” Then, his look of anger and frustration slips away. His smile is lopsided, almost love drunk. “But it feels good too right? That’s why I come right away when you do it. Right?”

“Right,” Otabek agrees. “Just let me show you,” and he knows how to get what it is that he wants from Yuri. He takes his cock into his hand, and strokes him lightly. It’s just enough contact, and just enough pressure to hold Yuri’s excitement, but not enough to give him any full sense of satisfaction. “Please.”

Yuri rocks up into his touch with gritted teeth and his hands fisted into the bedding below them. “Beka, just do what you need.”

“Turn over Yuri,” and so Yuri complies so that he’s laying on his side. “Draw your knees up to your chest a little. There.”

* * *

Otabek takes his time spreading the salve across his hole. It tingles, and Yuri can only assume that it is because of the herbs that he used to infuse the mixture. It feels thick and sticky across his skin. Then, as soon as Yuri feels used to Otabek poking around back there, well, as used to it as he can be, there’s pressure.

Otabek’s pushing in a finger, and Yuri’s trying not to tense up. He should be used to this by now. Otabek puts a finger in most times when they fool around now.

Otabek must be able to sense the tension in his body. Immediately, he leans forward, as if he expects a kiss.

Yuri gives it to him. It’s brief, and it’s chaste, but it does its job and makes him think about Otabek, toned and warm with him. For a moment it distracts him from the idea of Otabek, thick and powerful, pressing against his ass cheek.

“Yura, relax,” Otabek commands. With the salve, he’s able to move his finger. He crooks it gently, and although Yuri is not sure how he feels about any of this yet, the familiar transition of painful, to intrusive, to pleasure happens much more quickly.

Then, Otabek is kissing against the shell of his ear, and nipping at the lobe with his teeth. Yuri can feel the pad of his middle finger trace his perineum, and then graze his hole. “Yuri, may I?” But Otabek is already sliding in.

More pressure. More fullness. More drag whenever he moves his fingers. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble.” Yuri murmurs “disgusting”. He wants Otabek. Badly. He understands that all of this holds the promise of something more. He knew this whenever Otabek made him coat his fingers in saliva and slid a single finger inside. But….He still doesn’t understand.

“It’s not disgusting if it’s you, Yura,” Otabek whispers into his ear. Of course, the fucker does this while he’s taking his cock into his hand, and slowly working him back to full hardness. When his work there is done, he cradles Yuri’s balls in his hand, and rubs against his perineum again. He seems to like to do this, and Yuri wonders if Otabek himself would like such things done to him. “And I love you, of course.”

Of course he says this kind of crap with his fingers in his ass; he crooks his fingers just right. The motion sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine, and it blossoms at the place where Otabek’s fingers are buried deep inside of him. Otabek alternates these kinds of massaging motions with scissoring his fingers further and further apart stretching him further. “Fuck,” it’s got to be some kind of trick right? Some kind of magic woven spell? The salve must’ve had magical properties, because something like this _shouldn’t_ feel so good. It’s the same kind of fiery and silken feeling that he gets whenever Otabek touches his cock, but from the _inside_. Yuri knows that Otabek is good, but he had no idea that _anything_ could be this good. “Otabek, I want it now.”

Otabek’s hand is still on is cock while he plays with his ass. Although he still _aches_ Otabek is dragging out something from deep within him, and he can feel it coming with a low rolling thunder. Otabek’s kisses against his ears, and his neck, and his mouth are like strikes of lightning that never land in the same place twice, and he _knows_ that he’s going to come soon.

“Not yet. Yura, I’m um,” Otabek’s voice trails off.

“I know you’re fucking huge,” Yuri spits.

So Otabek removes his hand from his cock, and the inevitable feeling of spilling into Otabek’s hand dissipates slowly but surely. He doesn’t for a moment, lose a bit of the momentum or fire that Otabek has created. Otabek stretches him further with a third finger.

Where Otabek’s motions before were skillful, calculated, and designed to make him want, it’s clear now that Otabek himself is sick of waiting. Otabek’s fingers still for brief moments while he takes his own cock into his hand and strokes himself, only for the movement to pick back up with a brutal and uncalculated pace. It makes Yuri see white the way that he crooks his fingers, and rubs, and touches.

“Otabek, I’m serious.” Every hint of pain is gone now. “Otabek, I’m ready,” but Otabek seems lost in the strange push pull motions of his hands, one against his own cock and the other in Yuri’s hole.

“Beka,” and then Yuri’s moving again. He’s moving from his bunched up position on his side to his stomach.  Both Yuri and Otabek whimper when Otabek slides his fingers out. Otabek moves immediately to accommodate the new position. He places one hand upon Yuri’s hip, and the other across his chest. He pulls him upward so that he’s standing on his knees with his back up against Otabek’s chest.

Of course, Otabek takes a split second to seal his lips over Yuri’s while he slicks himself with more of the salve. Finally, he lines himself up and presses inside. With an agonized hiss their names are upon each other’s tongues in a muddled mixture of words and adoration, “Beka,” and “Yura.”

The first thing that Yuri notices, is just _how_ thick Otabek is. He’s felt his thickness and his weight in his hands and in his mouth, but having him inside is something different entirely. 

Otabek swallows up any whimpers of pain that may spill out while he presses inside. The entire world is reduced to the place where he and Otabek are joined, as it generates so many sensations that Yuri cannot keep track of them all, or focus on any one at any given time. There is pain from his body being breached, and there is pleasure from the way that Otabek rubs up against the spot, and there’s apprehension, as Otabek continues to thrust in deeper.

“Are you alright?” Otabek nuzzles against his shoulder. He rocks into him with shallow thrusts, as if he knows that he should give Yuri more time to readjust, but cannot contain his passion any further.

“Yeah,” Yuri stammers in response.

* * *

His Yuri is so tight, and so soft, and so addictive. It’s not enough that he has what he wants. Buried inside of Yuri, he wants _more, more, more_ , and it’s difficult to remember that he needs to give Yuri time to adjust. _Only_ the memory of his own first time slows him down.

He laps the sweat off of Yuri’s neck, and tilts his chin just _so_ , so that they can kiss one another.

“It’s fine,” Yuri says when they part, a thin trail of saliva connecting them. “It’s fine Beka, I’m ready.”

Otabek tests Yuri’s response with a roll of his hips. Yuri pushes back to meet him, and its then that Otabek knows for sure. He is ready. Otabek splays his hand wide between Yuri’s shoulders and pushes him back down onto all fours. He grabs at Yuri’s hips, and thrusts in harder than before.

Yuri responds in kind with a deep groan that sounds as if it was torn from deep within. “Otabek,” he sounds as if he’s drunk off of wine. “Again,” Yuri slurs, and so Otabek gives Yuri exactly what he wants.

Otabek pistons his hips again, and thrusts into Yuri, over, and over again. He watches Yuri scramble for purchase on the animal skins, and bury his face into the furs in wanton frustration. It’s clear from the  way that Yuri pushes against him to the way that Yuri fitfully reaches for his own cock that he’s pulled him under and wrung him out one too many times. He needs to come.

Except. Otabek isn’t ready yet. He understands Yuri’s need. He himself _aches_ for Yuri even when they are joined like this. Except, he also wants this feeling to last. He wants to push into Yuri over and over again, and doesn’t want it to be over for as much as he wants to come.

“Otabek,” Yuri cries out with a garbled moan.

Otabek snaps his hips in response, and holds firm onto Yuri’s hips. He can see little red marks from where he’s readjusted his grip, and he wonders if Yuri will wear those marks tomorrow when they return to the village. He wonders if he’ll feel them underneath his clothes.

“Otabek,” Yuri’s hand leaves his cock, and he pushes himself up on both hands. “Otabek,” his tone is less urgent, more demanding. “Wanna kiss you.”

* * *

Otabek, pulls Yuri back up onto his knees because he is a dutiful husband. Their kiss is sloppy and open mouthed, and reminds him of the drunken kisses they shared on their wedding night. Their teeth clink together, and it’s less kissing as it is awkward tonguing against one another combined with Otabek’s blind groping touches, but it makes him feel closer. It slows things down for a split second, and Yuri can focus on something other than the way that his cock throbs with need.

He can feel Otabek twitch deep within him. He can feel all of the ways that Otabek has affected his body. He feels sore and marked by him completely: his nipples, his neck, his hips, and his ass. He feels completely owned, and is this what it means to be married? What it means to be in love? It’s not enough to be marked up so completely. He wants everyone to know.

Then, in an instant the moment is gone. Otabek wraps a firm hand around his cock, and pumps him hard. His vision starts to tunnel, and he can feel the familiar feeling coming over him _finally._ It’s as if something inside of him has been pulled tight, and it’s finally being let go, the tension in his body mounts, and _snaps_ just like that, and then he’s coming into Otabek’s hand.

Otabek keeps pounding into him, _hard._ It makes it difficult for Yuri to believe that this is the same man that gave him long almost arduous foreplay, but perhaps he treats his body this way because of it. Now that he’s come it feels like pins and needles inside, a strange mixture of pleasure-pain, too much and far, far too soon.

Then, with a soft cry of “Yura,” and another kiss he can feel Otabek pulse inside of him. He can feel him shoot come deep inside, and Yuri would hate to admit it out loud, but it feels really good. It makes him feel like he’s chased that desire to be possessed by Otabek to the very end. He did this to him, and he’s the only one he’ll do this for.

* * *

Otabek does his best to clean Yuri after they’re finished. It is difficult when Yuri goes limp in his arms, and falls asleep almost immediately. Still, he manages to clean him with water and a spare bit of cloth, and pulls his tunic back on to protect him from catching cold.

While Yuri naps, he stirs the pot of food over the cook fire, and then wakes Yuri when it’s time to eat. “Hungry?”

Yuri’s eyes open in increments. First little slivers, hidden predominantly by long lashes. Then, he steals a glimpse of wide tired eyes behind droopy half lids. Then, when a bowl of food is pressed into his palm, he opens his eyes properly. “Fucking starving,” and then he begins to eat wolfishly.

Otabek sits near him. Yuri still hasn’t bothered to put on pants, and while he eats he kicks the animal furs away. Otabek can see his smooth white legs, and his bruised hips, and his flaccid cock. He wonders for a moment, if Yuri will let him have him again tonight.

He wants him as much as possible before the inevitable wedge is driven between them. He’s going to have to deal with his past, but for now, he simply wants Yuri in the present.

“What is it Beka?”

“Ah-nothing.”

“Nothing bullshit. You’re doing that thing,” Yuri insists.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you act all pensive and stare at me like I’m dying. Or you’re dying. You’re not dying are you?” Yuri asks while inhaling a large chunk of meat.

“No.”

“Alright then. Settle down.”  Yuri eyes the cooking pot, as if he’s already thinking about more food despite the fact that his own bowl is only half empty. “You wanna know something?”

“Hm?” Otabek says chewing over a particularly tough bit of gristle.

Yuri belches loudly. It sounds as if it comes from deep within the gut, all gastric juice and food barely chewed. Yuri wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love you.”

Otabek nearly drops his food on the ground. His heart races, and he looks to his surroundings to make sure that this is not a dream.

“Want to know how I know?”

“Please,” Otabek stammers. Amazed at how casual Yuri seems about all of this.

“Well I haven’t’ been moping lately. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Yuri hasn’t been kicking at walls of buildings, or knocking over little statuettes in the temple, or yelling at Potya. If that’s what he means by “hasn’t been moping.”

“Instead of thinking all the time, “oh wow wouldn’t that be awful if I spent my whole life being told I was going to be Lehosh and I’m not,” it just happened. Maybe this morning when you were gone hunting. Maybe yesterday when we were trying to stoke the fire.”

They’d gone to sleep and found barely thriving coals on the ground. They spent the better part of the morning blowing and stoking the weak embers, and feeding the fire bits of dried grass and spare bits of lamb’s wool.

“I don’t really know. But instead I started thinking about how you know. I have you. We’re married, and I really don’t think I need much else.” Yuri tilts his bowl to his mouth draining the rest of the oily broth from his bowl. “You make me feel like I could go kick a pack of wolves in the face.” Then, he moves to the cooking vessel for more food.

* * *

 Grandpa had requested that they come to him when they were making the cross from the valley to the base of the mountain and share a meal. Yuri isn’t particularly thrilled by the prospect, because he knows what this kind of visit means. It means crowded in at his side between him and Yakov’s sweaty ass.

It means Lilia telling him what he’s doing wrong in preventing his powers from awakening. It means that Yakov’s going to just sit there under her scrutinous eyes and _sweat_ like the useless pig that he is.

It means that people are fed up with him not producing some kind of miraculous result.

It all goes down like Yuri expects. He’s wedged in between grandpa and Yakov. Otabek is far, far, far away from him on the other side of the fire. The dwelling is cramped, and filled with the most god awful tapestry. Years ago Lilia had sewn into the walls of the building, the story of how Yakov came to know his power as Lehosh.

Enchanted by a slender, but bewitching dancer, Yakov became enamored. As were all the other men in the village. When they spoke and when they danced it was as if time stood still. At the very least, this is the story told in thread. However, many wished to dance with her, and Yakov could not hold her attention for long.

So, the emergent Lehosh huffed, and he puffed, and from his big fat gullet, he summoned a wind that knocked all those assholes over. Then, he went on to make his and Victors, but mostly _his_ life a living hell ever since.

Since their love was dead, and _both_ of them killed it, the tapestries are faded, cut out in odd, places and snagged. Yuri typically hates looking at them, but he knows from decades of staring down how the story went. Yakov didn’t emerge until other people pissed him off.

Huh.

“Why the hell are you serving everyone tea Otabek?” He doesn’t like it when people think they can just boss Otabek around because he’s an outsider.

“It is polite Yuri,” he replies simply. He moves from person to person, pouring from the glazed container that Lilia keeps near her drying rack filled with leaves into small cups that share the same blue glaze pattern.

Then, when he’s finished, he sits in the only seat that is left, which is too far away from him. Yuri wonders if he is cold like that sitting near the door. Was there enough that he could pour himself tea?

Yuri gets up with a huff and stomps over to where Otabek sits. He sits himself in front of the door, and he’s so far from the fire, and he’s fucking freezing. The feeling of Otabek’s thigh against his own makes it all worth it.

“I have to say Yurochka,” Grandpa takes a long draught of his tea, and takes a moment to look over the rim of his cup at Yakov and Lilia in the strange kind of knowing and earnest, but never smug kind of way that only Grandpa can. “I was uncertain at first, but now I see. You are a good match for each other.”

“Has he tried slicing a tuber in half and rubbing it against the soles of his feet before burying it in the dirt?” Yakov asks.

Lilia interjects, “that doesn’t work. What about sleeping with wet tea leaves on his forehead?”

Yuri proceeds to tune everyone out, and urges Otabek to eat some of the food, dried fruits and soft cheese. Yuri doesn’t need to say a goddamn thing, because Grandpa gave them the look. Grandpa gave them the look, and he really does love Otabek. Take that.

* * *

After spending time with Yuri’s grandfather, Yakov, and Lillia Otabek knew that he had to come clean and tell Yuri about his past. He was working on borrowed time, and he could not hide anymore.  It wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Yuri now too, and the safety of Yuri’s family and clan...Now his family and clan.  

Except.

Yuri asked if they could do it again. He asked if he could sit on Otabek’s cock, and then he rocked back and forth on top of him. It was a request that Otabek could not say no to.

Yuri fell asleep almost instantly. Otabek too was soon lulled into an uneasy and fitful sleep.

Otabek awoke to the sound of thunderous sound of hooves against earth, and in an instant, he knew. Otabek scrambled to get dressed. He reached for his weapon, which had been long since cast aside with his armor in favor of the peaceful way of living which he’d adopted with Yuri.

Yuri sat up with a start. His hair was tousled, and his eyes drooped with sleep. “The fuck’s going on?”

The village erupts in chaos, and although Otabek cannot see it, he can hear women shrieking, children crying, sheep bleating in confusion. Each noise ramped up his heartrate faster, and faster still. What has he allowed to happen?

Otabek pauses only for a moment. Not to put on his armor, not to grab his second smaller blade. He pauses to kiss his husband and whisper to him softly, “Yuri, I’m sorry.” Which he follows up quickly with, “I love you,” because he’ll do anything to make this right, even if that means giving up his own life.

Otabek draws his blade and strides out of the dwelling. He’s met with the cry of, “where’s Beka?” Followed quickly by, “Isabella calm down.”

Two horses, one white as the snow that fell last night, and the other dappled grey. Upon the grey horse sits a woman with her sword drawn. Her lips are painted red like blood, and her abdomen is quite swollen. It’s clear that she is very pregnant, and it’s clear in the way that she carries herself she’s on edge and ready to pounce. She’s thirsty, and she wants to spill blood.

Of course, Jean sits upon the white stallion. It would be easy if his gaze were just as murderous and blood thirsty as Isabella’s, but of course it isn’t. He simply smiles at him and cries out, “Otabek!”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, let's talk primitive lubes
> 
> Tumblr: boxwineconfession.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: @confessionwine


	5. Angelsea

Yuri has always been a very light and fitful sleeper. He can remember his grandmother and mother arguing on over who would have to sleep near him on cold winter nights. He was often prone to kicking and flailing in his sleep. Whomever was nearby would have the bedding ripped off of them immediately. Yuri jolted up right in his sleep, and started speaking. Or, he’d wake up sobbing in the middle of the night with no discernable reason why he was upset.

Now that he’s with Otabek he sleeps soundly through the night with no interruption. There is something about having his husband near that makes him feel completely and utterly safe. He does not want for anything anymore. His bed is always warm, and his stomach is full, and there is another to help him mind the flock. Best of all, for the first time since mother died, he doesn’t feel lost anymore.  

He was sleeping so soundly that it takes him too damn long to figure out that when Otabek stirs beside him that something is wrong. It takes him longer still to process the thunder of hooves outside. It doesn’t quite register when Otabek kisses him, and tells him a soft and resigned voice that shouldn’t be used when his sword is in hand, “I’m sorry.” This is followed by a soft and genuine, “I love you.” It’s a very strange thing to dream.

Yuri’s head returns to the bed. His eyes drift closed, and he’s aware that the bed is missing it’s usual warmth, but he doesn’t quite understand, the peripherals of his consciousness still tinged with sleep.

Then, he can feel the sudden weight of Potya bounding onto his chest. He can feel sharp claws paw at his face, and his eyes flutter open again. His field of vision is nothing but her eyes, wide and accusatory.

Suddenly, it all clicks into place, and Yuri is jerked awake. Otabek is gone. He doesn’t even drag his shoes on. He reaches for his dagger. He’d gladly lose a toe due to frostbite than lose his husband to whatever fucking commotion is occurring outside. Potya darts out of the tent before he does and into the expanse of the village.

Yuri’s heart feels like it’s going to explode. First mama, and then Victor, and if something happens to Otabek that’s it. He’s done. There’s nothing left. His chest burns like fire from running. He can hear his feet stomp against the earth, but he does not feel like he’s moving at all.

Yuri approaches the clearing and his vision goes red. Another man grabs onto Otabek’s forearm. It is an image that is far more benign than the horrors his minds eye had conjured, and yet it makes him far more angrier than anything he expected. Perhaps it angers him because they ride in with weapons drawn. He doesn’t have to know the whole story to understand that Otabek has a past, and this man is clearly a part of his past. Perhaps it is because he grabs onto his forearm, and he knows just how soft and just how tender the skin there is. No one should touch Otabek there, save for him.

The other man is tall and bulky. Yuri would describe him as intimidating if he weren’t hell bent on doing his best to kick his ass. Immediately, he wedges himself between the stranger and Otabek. Time slows down for Yuri, as he grabs the stranger, yanks him downward, and draws for his blade. He has eyes that are blue like clear lake water. He has a haircut similar to Otabek’s which only furthers his suspicions that they know one another. He doesn’t _look_ threatening, because he has the kind of eyes that mean the same thing as a smile. This means that he’s the most dangerous kind of person of all. “Who the fuck said you could touch my husband?”

The stranger seems more threatened by Yuri’s words than he does the blade which is pressed against his neck. His eyes go glassy, and it’s the way that women look when they’re about to cry. The stranger blinks rapidly, quickly trying to dispel the tears in his eyes without having them actually fall. He succeeds, but Yuri is close enough that he can see the way his eyelashes become damp and clumped together from the tears that never come. Husband? Otabek? I thought-“ his breath catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry Jean,” Otabek’s voice is firm and unwavering. Otabek turns on his heel. He claps Yuri on either side of the shoulder and demands in a harsh tone that he’s never taken with him before. “I need to speak with him.” It’s Otabek’s way of _politely_ asking him to lower his knife.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere,” Yuri knows what this looks like. Ride up, grab what you want, ride off. Fuckers have been trying it with _him_ , with his sheep, and with girls in the village for years now. He’s not letting it happen to Otabek.

He and Otabek lock gazes for a brief moment, and Otabek nods in silent acknowledgement. He will not move from this spot. “Just the blade, Yura.”

Yuri cannot say no to the request. Otabek could ask him to charge into a horde of enemy raiders with that voice, and he’d be helpless to say “no”. Yuri lowers his dagger, but he does not dislodge himself from between Otabek and Jean.

Otabek turns to the stranger. “Jean,” Otabek repeats. “I met Yuri, and I could not bear the thought of…” He swallows thickly. “I couldn’t go through with it.”

“I don’t understand,” Jean, says with a nervous chuckle. “If this is about your standing with the patriarch.” His voice falls again, his expression deflates, until it sounds like there’s nothing left. “None of that matters anymore, please Beka.”

In that moment, it is as if Yuri has taken a step back and seen the entire tapestry separate from the stitches. Otabek was someone special to this person. This person thought that they were someone special to Otabek. Maybe they actually were. Somehow, that stung more than the idea of two people who wanted to simply ride off with him and have their way with him. “Please, Otabek,” and the intimacy of it all makes him press the blade against the intruder’s skin.

Yuri’s ears pop the way that they often do when he climbs too high on the mountain. His body moves of it’s own accord. He tosses his blade to the floor, leaps upward, and wraps his hands around the stranger’s neck in an attempt to get him into a chokehold.

Otabek’s voice is distorted, but it has to be him because no one says his name like that, “Yuri.” And then something that sounds a lot like, “put your blade away. We’ll talk this through.” But the syllables are distorted, as if his head had been plunged underneath the water, and so he’s not sure that’s what he’s saying at all.

“No we won’t,” a woman’s voice interrupts. Yuri turns his head slowly to the sound of her voice. The actions are sluggish and disjointed. He _does_ _not_ move like this.

Seeing the woman up close is unnerving. Yuri has seen pregnant women before. It’s just a part of living with others in the village. But this one is _so_ fucking pregnant. Her stomach is enormous, and yet she wields her broadsword as if she’s the fastest and strongest warrior the world has ever known. “First you do this to me, to my body,” the whites of her eyes turn blood red, and her gaze falls heavy onto Otabek. Yuri’s first instinct is to run, but there’s something dark and ugly inside that melds his feet to the Earth, and his hands to Jean’s neck.  So, he stays. “And then you hurt Jean?” Her gaze stays trained on Otabek insinuating that she’s _not_ talking about his attempt to choke him. Jean’s thick powerful fingers are already prying him off. Yuri’s scrawny ass never stood a chance. 

Somewhere in between tunneled vision and clenched fists he can feel fuckin Potya of all things rub up against his ankles, what a stupid fuckin cat. He wants to pummel all of them: the hag, the warrior, and his stupid fucking cat.  

He doesn’t get a chance to plan, only react. She moves far too quickly for a pregnant whore, and she lunges after Otabek with her blade drawn. Yuri pushes Jean away, and then he finally wills his body to move. He darts right in front of Otabek without thinking of the consequences.

Everything stands still for a moment: the wind, Potya, Otabek, even the pregnant hell beast goes still for a moment. She’s even though she is inches away from him, and she looks as if she’s on the cusp of an attack, yet it never seems to come. Something stings near his shoulder. Yuri looks down, and sees that his shirt is covered in red. He moves his hand to where he sees the red, and _finally_ his body reacts. He can _feel_ the sting of the blade. His fingers wrap around it, and he tears the blade out and shoves _her_ backwards.

In the background he can hear Otabek’s voice, but he cannot hear the words. His vision tunnels, and the last thing he can see, is _Potya_. What the fuck? She looks at him with big stupid brown eyes. Why did she follow him out here, and why the fuck did both _she and Otabek_ have to watch him die?

* * *

Otabek can feel his throat constrict as he sees Yuri covered in red. He reaches for his sword. As always, he’s too late and too cowardly. He watches helplessly as the only thing that he’s ever done right in his life is violently ripped away from him.

Yuri falls to the ground, his eyes rolled back into his head spasmodic and fitful. The air feels the way that it does just before lighting strikes close: so tense and so electric that every hair on his body stands up.

Otabek has no time to apply cloth or pressure to Yuri’s wound. Isabella still looks murderous, and so he charges forth, any hint of prior friendship between killed in an instant.

Jean yells at him, “stop this. It’s not too late to save him,” but Otabek has seen this kind of bloodlust before. Isabella will not stop until she is sated. He has to neutralize the danger to himself and to Yuri first, and so he keeps pressing forward.

The action makes Jean charge forward too, and Otabek knows as he watches them charge forward that he won’t stand a chance.

Inexplicably, Yuri’s cat jumps up onto his shoulder, and uses Yuri’s chest to springboard off of his stiff form and onto Isabella’s face. The matted ball of fur carries more weight and more impact than it should, and it knocks her off balance for a moment. The cat bounces across the grass, doubles back and charges towards her. As the cat moves it increases dramatically in size with each step. First, the size of a small dog, then a sheep, and then, it grows larger still surpassing the horses in size. Its mouth draws back around its gums revealing sharp pointed fangs. Its tail lengthens and the cat flails it around like a whip. Green static crackles across the grass and the cat’s moving legs.

The cat uses her long whip like tail to knock first Jean, then Isabella off of their feet and onto their backs.

Otabek uses the lull in the battle to race to Yuri’s side. He shucks his shirt and presses it to the wound. “Yura,” his voice sounds cracked and broken, so unlike his own.

Yuri looks cracked, broken, and so unlike himself. His skin is the color of ashes, and Otabek can only see the whites of his eyes. His mouth hangs open, and his breaths are shallow and ragged.

Otabek is uncertain which god to pray to, which spirit to beg, what offering to make. All he knows is that he’d give anything to preserve his husband’s life.

Behind him, Otabek can hear a strange and terrible noise. It is not the thunder of horse hooves, or the sound of two fierce warriors coming to kill them both. Instead, it is the sound loud, almost deafening sound of a cat’s purring. The vibrations shake the ground on which he kneels. The creature pads around on the grass and sits in front of him and Yuri. For a moment, Otabek wonders if she’s going to kill _all_ of them.

The beast blinks at him widely, once, twice, and then he acts on impulse and instinct. Each action is driven forward by this creature, which he is not yet sure that he can trust. Except, has no other choice. Slowly, he removes the cloth from Yuri’s chest.

The large Potya creature has large amber colored eyes that narrow and scrutinize him closely. Then, her pupils widen once more. Like a torch held to flame, her eyes glow brighter than the sun. Green static crackles across her face chest, and paws. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the electric bursts disappear.

She leans forward over Yuri, and laps at the blood on his chest in long sloppy licks.

Yuri stirs in his pain ridden delirium. He moans in pain, and calls Otabek’s name. “I’m here,” he assures.

With each lap of the animal’s tongue, the blood is cleaned away. The wound is narrowed, then it grows shorter, and shorter in length until completely healed. The skin left in Potya’s wake is clean, and unblemished without even so much as the hint of a scar.

“Wow,” Otabek says to the cat.

Potya is unresponsive. Her eyes narrow as she looks off to the distance.

Isabella has gotten up off her feet, even before Jean. Given her condition, she _shouldn’t_ be able to move at all. Her teeth are bared, her jaw is clenched, and Otabek understands that something is very different about his childhood friend.

Jean also gets to his feet, and Otabek feels his stomach drop. He saw in Jean perhaps an opportunity to diffuse the situation, but with Isabella irrevocably involved it seems moot now.

Jean charges toward her with his sword drawn.  “Isabella, I’ll handle this,” except it’s clear that she doesn’t need saving.

“Jean,” her voice is guttural, and drags across his eardrums like sharp gravel. “Stay out of this. This is no longer your fight.”

“Bella, no. Please don’t.”

Otabek’s first and only priority in all of this is to get Yuri away from the battle. He does his best to heft Yuri upward, but Potya, turns her whip like tail onto him, and knocks him away from Yuri. Otabek looks to the creature for sympathy, cooperation, or both. He knows that the beast’s transformation is Yuri’s doing.  “Yuri please,” his voice is firm, but Yuri is unresponsive. “Yuri,” he touches his husband’s face first gently, “I know this is you. Get Potya to stop. I need to help you.”  And then more firmly, his fingers slap against the skin and he grimaces at his actions.

Potya lets out a roar so loud that he immediately drops Yuri back onto the grass. Otabek claps his hands over his ears, and watches in horror as Yuri changes the landscape of the battlefield completely.

Yuri rises, but not out of his own volition. Yuri would never ignore his cries and his calls. Yuri sinks his hands into the thick fur of the creature. She dips as low to the ground as she can in her large cumbersome form, and he hoists himself onto her back.

Then, she charges forward.

* * *

Before that bitch stabbed him, Yuri felt as if he’d just woken up and was being held under water all at the same time. It doesn’t go away, but instead is intensified a thousand times over. His body moves without his awareness. He only understands what happens with his body when he sees his arms move or when he feels his ass hit the dirt because something has happened to his body. He’s vaguely aware of Otabek’s presence, but there’s little he can do. His limbs won’t move, his voice won’t work. The world begins with the two fuck heads who charged into his village and started fucking shit up. It ends with this large raging cat beast that looks an awful fucking lot like…Potya?

Yuri feels compelled to climb on top of this titanic mass of fur.

Jean, charges Potya, and she lunges at him in turn. Yuri looks over her head as they hang suspended in midair and frozen in time. Effortlessly, the cat swats him away as if he were nothing at all. For a split second, he’s cognizant enough to think, “ _not towards the house,”_ as there is a single felt tent in their path.

As if it is a deliberate and calculated move, she swats him into it as if he were nothing at all. It crumbles underneath his weight. It’s a message to him, deliberate and harsh. She’s in control. She calls the shots. It’s like when she knocks over all of his shit, or jumps on his face and scratches for no good reason other than she fucking can.

Then, the fucking hag is back, and somehow, she’s _bigger_ than before. Her muscles bulge at the seams of her clothing. Her armor has buckled under the pressure of her body expanding and hangs awkwardly off of her body from where it has been broken. “No one, hurts Jean,” she cries. Her body flexes again, and the thick leather armor is torn from her frame along with most of her clothes. They hang in tatters across her large hulking body.

Yuri can see muscle upon muscle upon muscle. Sweat drips across her body, and veins bulge along her skin. Although he feels paralyzed in his own body, he’s seen enough to at least _feel_ disgusted.

In a move that’s all too coordinated and too smooth, the woman kicks the feet out from underneath Potya. When she’s prone onto the ground, Isabella grabs her up by the tail, swings them round, and round, and sends the sailing across the field and into two more small dwellings.

Okay, so the plan is simple. Step one: regain full control of his mind. Step two: regain control of his body. Step three: save the village. Gods, what a shitty power. 

* * *

It seems as if all of Jean’s bite is dried up and taken away the moment that Isabella unleashes her powers upon Yuri, and the village. Although she’s destroying everything in her path, Jean’s voice is tinged with anxiety, as he calls to her, “Isabella, you know what your powers do to you,” and “Isabella, you know what your powers can do,” neither warning is responded to.

“How do you usually stop her?”

The color fades from Jean’s face as he talks, “She usually just smashes things until everything’s gone. Really useful in battle.” He keeps on talking, as Jean is often apt to do. “It’s so hard on her body Otabek. I’m worried about her. I’m worried about our child.”

* * *

Just when Yuri has reason to believe Potya’s got her on the ropes, the tides turn once again. Potya doubles in size _again,_ and then swats her into a row of stone ovens that they use to bake bread. On one hand, the blow keeps her down for a bit. On the other hand, what’s the point of kicking her ass if there is no home left afterward?

She gets up slowly, and shakes the white clay dust off of her hair and tattered clothes. Her body expands once again, shredding the clothes even more. Yuri can see skin stretched so tight it looks as if it’s going to burst. Angry red stretch marks cover the entirety of her body like stripes.

Fuck. Maybe she’ll throw him far enough they’ll land outside of the village. 

* * *

“Do you think this is going to work?” Jean asks as they run to the outskirts of the village. People run in the opposite direction desperately trying to flee the carnage that Yuri and Isabella wreak on the village: buildings, wells, ovens, all destroyed by their bodies being thrown against everything. From the wreckage, Isabella forms new weapons. She smashes stone walls from permanent buildings over Potya and Yuri. She picks up tent poles and brandishes them as if they were blades. Something _must_ be done.

“I’m not certain,” Otabek admits as he unsheathes his sword, and holds it to Jean’s neck.

“Why do I have to be the victim?” Jean scoffs.

“Do you really think that is important right now?” Otabek retorts.

Jean doesn’t press the argument any further. Instead, he yells, in a voice that is steady, fearless, and completely unconvincing, “Bella, help me!”

At present, the cat beast is desperately trying to maul her, but her skin hasn’t just expanded. It has become hardened and impenetrable. No matter how much the cat bites or rips at the skin, it remains uninjured.

Isabella whips her head around toward them, pushes the cat away, and takes off in the direction opposite of the village. However, it’s a feeling of anything other than relief. Both Isabella and Yuri bound toward them with an unbridled and deadly force.

Potya catches up to Isabella, and swats at her once again. Instead of flying forward, the ground buckles beneath Isabella’s feet, she digs herself into the Earth and refuses to be moved by Yuri’s attack.

For a moment, all Otabek and Jean can do is stare at them both with slack jaw and wide eyes. They’re going to fight until one or both of them is dead.

* * *

“Are you having a bit of trouble? Ah- what was your name again?”

He and Jean have tried every possible iteration of _stopping_ them. Jean goes after Isabella and tries to reach her. Otabek manages to get close to the cat beast. He grabs onto it’s fur, and swings himself up onto it’s back and tries to talk to Yuri. He knows the two are connected. However it’s in vain. Jean is ignored, and Otabek is inevitably thrown from the back of the cat. It brays wildly, and does not relent until he’s on the dirt.

To say that they’re having trouble is a bit of an understatement.

“It’s Otabek,” he says to Victor, as if they’ve just met again in passing during a quiet afternoon in the village. He seems a different man. The dark circles around his eyes are lessened. The smile and the mirth in his expression and his voice does not seem forced. It flows naturally, as if this had been his true demeanor all along. His smile is given freely, and does not waiver even when he surveys the damage and destruction before him.

Otabek assumes that the true reason lies within the man at his side. His facial features and expression are soft. He holds onto Victor’s shoulder or the crook of his elbow at all times, even when they scuttle across the expanse of the meadow, dodging Isabella and Potya’s battle to approach them. He blinks at Otabek and Jean widely focusing on neither at once and both of them at the same time. It becomes clear soon enough that he’s blind.

“The two of you have…strange timing,” Otabek says.

“Right?” Victor responds. “Convenient to the point of being contrived. How did we manage that?”

The question, albeit rhetorical, rubs Otabek the wrong way. It gives him the same kind of unsettled feeling that he had when he first arrived in the village, and it seemed as if everyone had a secret to hide.

“Can you help us?” Otabek has reached his limit. He’s out of strength, he’s out of ideas. Isabella, Potya, and Yuri all look worse exhausted too, chewed up and spit out by the demands of battle. Yet, still they fight.

“What am I going to do throw a snowball at them?” Victor beams at them. “I don’t think that would be too helpful.”  

The stranger at Victor’s side lights up. His mouth curls into a smile, and his eyes are filled with an unfocused life. “Victor,” he tugs at the Lehoush’s sleeve.

“Yes Yuuri?”

“I think that maybe…possibly, I can,” Yuuri’s confidence seems to be razor thin. The blush on his face deepens, and he all behind Victor. “I can do something.”

Victor turns to him, his smile is wide and warm. “Oh, because?”

“Yes!” Yuuri responds.

“And also because-“

“Yes!” Yuuri says again.

It seems that with each passing line of the shared and secret dialogue between them, Yuuri’s confidence is built and rebuilt before them. Although they have no idea what it is that they’re truly saying, both Otabek and Jean have no choice other than to put their faith fully in this stranger.

* * *

Neither Victor nor Yuuri act as a suitable tactician. Otabek has to interrupt multiple times when Yuuri discusses the plan, “You’ll need someone to cover you.” Or, “You’ll need Jean or myself to act as a distraction.”

Each time, Yuuri responds, “If you think that is best,” or, “whatever you think needs to be done.”  

Neutralizing Isabella is the first priority, as Yuuri is certain that he will be able to do so.

Jean mounts his horse, and Otabek takes Isabella’s. They ride as close as they can get to the battling figures, and then dart off across the field, toward the narrow trail which leads down to the flatlands and to the outside worlds from which Isabella and Jean came.

Isabella, despite her fervor notices this, and follows suit. Her movements are slower now, sluggish due to fatigue and her cumbersome form. Still, she runs forcefully, she throws her arms mid gait purposefully. Otabek’s teeth rattle in his skull as she shakes the earth beneath them. Otabek turns his head back to see that she’s right on their tails. The ground buckles and cracks wherever she walks.  It seems as if it’s some small miracle that the horse can even stay upright.

Victor’s job is to do what he playfully offered to do when they first arrived: throw the largest snowball he can muster at Potya. He stands in the middle of the meadow with his arms stretched wide. Quickly he compresses them back together, and then moves them out wide once more. In the space between his hands is a large compacted ball of snow.

“Yuri, your powers are amazing, but…” He cocks his arms back, and the sphere hangs heavily in midair between his arms. “You’re not controlling them. You’re letting them control you.”

Before they disappear down the mountain path, and out of view Otabek looks over his shoulder. He can see Potya barreling towards Victor with fangs bared and claws extended.

In the limited interactions he’s had with Victor, the man seems much larger than life. Even when his expression is laden with sadness. He dances bigger, he laughs bigger, his magic is bigger, and yet when he stands in front of Yuri and Potya, he seems so small.

They disappear from view before he can see if the diversion works.

Yuri waits for them at the end of the narrow pathway near the clearing which leads outward. Jean and Otabek ride together side by side until the very last minute. They part ways at the clearing. Otabek rides east, and Jean west. In the center, stands Yuuri alone and unguarded.

Despite this, his timid demeanor is gone. He too now wears the face of sheer determination that is only possessed by a warrior. His brow is furrowed, and his jaw is firmly set. His stance is wide, as if he expects to brace himself for a fierce blow.

In that instant, Otabek realizes that Yuuri never told them what it was that he intended to do to stop Isabella.

Isabella charges forward, rapidly closing the distance between herself and Yuuri. Yet, he does not move to strike her. She keeps charging straight onward, neither pulling to the left towards Otabek, or to the right towards Jean. Forward. Onward. Forward.

Yuuri only acts when she is close enough to touch him. He grabs her by the tatters of her clothes, and pulls her close until their faces are inches apart. Softly, he cups her cheek with the palm of his hand.

Isabella’s entire demeanor changes. Her tense muscles relax. Yuuri scrubs away the volatile look upon her face that openly displayed her lust for blood. In it’s wake is a look that is much calmer, almost serene. She looks upon all of them with dreamy half lidded eyes.

Yuuri speak to her softy, “you’re really beautiful. I can tell.” Cautiously, he ghosts his fingers across the features of her face.

Otabek has seen _many_ strange and shocking things over the course of his lifetime. Many of those things, he’s seen just now during this battle. However, he’s never seen anything quite so strange. He’s never known anything so soft and so tender to be so disconcerting.

In the distance, he can hear Jean spit and sputter, “hands off _my_ wife,” and all Otabek can do is hold his breath and pray that Jean doesn’t mess this up, because whatever it is that Yuuri is doing, it seems to be working. Isabella shrinks before them with each passing second, slowly but surely returning to the small waif of a woman that he knew long ago.

“You’re going to be a really great mom too.” The hand on her cheek drifts to her swollen abdomen. Yuuri rubs the skin in slow soothing circles. “You’re having two. Did you know that?” His voice is low, and barely a whisper.

The air is still enough that Otabek could hear a field mouse dart down the trail. Both Yuuri and Isabella are shrouded in a soft, morning dawn like glow. Their features shine like the pearlescent insides of mussels and shells.  

Yuuri closes the faint distance between them, and bends at the waist so as to not press against her stomach. His lips brush softly against her forehead. He pulls back slowly. Isabella’s eyes snap shut, and her body falls forward. Yuuri catches her, but just barely.  “Ah, can someone help me?”

“What did you do to her?” Jean asks taking Isabella into his arms.

“Oh,” Yuuri’s face goes red, as if he hadn’t anticipated being asked about his own abilities. “I cast my spell upon her,” he nervously twiddles his fingers. “It’s like a spell of, like…It’s kind of one part hypnotism, the other persuasion. I mean, it’s temporary, although given her condition there will probably be side-effects. Ah-“

“Seduction.” Otabek deadpans. It’s very clear to him what happened.

“Seduction?” Jean repeats. His eyes are wide. It is as if now that he has a word, it justifies the discomfort he felt watching Yuuri work his magic.

“Ah, more or less. It’s temporary!” Yuuri’s insists. 

* * *

Of course, their work isn’t over. Jean takes himself and Isabella on the white horse. Otabek helps Yuuri onto the dapple grey, and together the four of them ride back into the clearing, and the battle is far from over.

Victor’s got Potya restrained. Her paws are encased in ice. Yuri hangs off of her back limply like a rag doll. Victor does not seem for a moment frazzled or frustrated. Every time that Potya yanks a paw free from the ice encapsulation, he races over to wherever the break has occurred and patches it up with more ice.

“You can’t do the same to him?” Otabek asks Yuuri.

“I don’t think so,” Yuuri supplies. “We don’t exactly get along. That seems to be a requirement in order for my powers to work.”

Otabek nods. He is uncertain if it is a relief that Yuri is immune to these strange strong powers, or if it’s terrifying that all of this combined magic cannot work to stop Yuri.

“Otabek,” Yuuri taps on his shoulder. It’s strange that he feels the need to call his attention that way. They’re both seated next to one another on the horse. The other man is pressed up next against him. Still his voice is so soft that Otabek can barely hear him when he speaks. “I think it has to be you.”

Otabek dismounts from the horse and puts the reins in Yuuri’s hands. He walks slowly in a way that is not allowed in the heat of battle. Otabek approaches the beast. He watches the way her chest heaves in distress. He sees the way her fur is tangled with briars and grass from traversing the length of the meadow and the village multiple times.

Otabek closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply. He can smell blood. Whether it’s Potya’s or Isabella’s or Yuri’s remains unknown. It mingles with the scent of grass, and the combined scent makes the bile rise and bite the back of his throat. He can hear the animal’s labored breathing. It’s tired too. Hopefully ready to end all of this.

Otabek buries his fingers into it’s fur, and hoists himself back on top of the beast’s back behind Yuri. Otabek immediately wraps his hands around Yuri’s waist. When Yuri is pulled flush against his chest, he moves his hands upward. He splays a hand across his chest, and tilts his head so that his mouth rests on Yuri’s earlobe.

A soft moan escapes Yuri’s mouth. It’s _something._

“Yuri,” Otabek begins. “I’m not going anywhere. Nothing can take me away from you.” He runs his fingers across Yuri’s sharp jaw line. He places small kisses on his earlobe, and his neck. They are probably inappropriate given the gravity of the situation, and yet Otabek cannot help himself. He needs Yuri to know, but it’s not enough to simply use words. His love goes far deeper than that. Surely Yuri understands this somewhere deep down?

“I understand why you are upset. I would be too, but this…” Otabek pauses for a moment. Words are quite difficult for him. “You said you wanted to help people with your ability. I know that you can, but this is not the way.” Otabek’s hands move to wherever he can find bare bits of skin, and when the soft skin of his forearms aren’t enough, he pulls Yuri’s shirt up high, and touches gently against the soft skin of his stomach. “How can we raise sheep together if everything is gone? How can we tend crops together if everything is destroyed? How can we make love if you’re not here with me? Yura?” He repeats it, because it’s worth saying, “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

He cranes his own neck and tilts Yuri’s head back so that he can place a chaste kiss upon his lips. 

Otabek expected Yuri’s eyes to flutter open softly. He expected Yuri, teary and disoriented to tell him that he loved him too.

His plea to Yuri is successful, but the result is not as romantic as the one he’d envisioned.

Potya rapidly shrinks in size, such that they’re both thrown from her. Otabek has to scramble to shield Yuri from the fall. Otabek watches as the creature slowly but surely returns to normal size. She hisses and bites the entire way down.

After Potya collapses, Yuri stirs. He props himself up on one hand, and his complexion is just as green as the grass upon which they lie.  His eyes flutter open, and his gaze is so tender that Otabek finds himself lost in it. “Otabek, I don’t feel so good.” Then, he’s retching in the grass.

* * *

“Otabek,” Jean holds one of his children across his chest. Having the spell of a fertility god cast upon you when already pregnant results in..interesting but expected outcomes. Isabella, barely conscious or aware of the full extent of the battle, goes into labor.  Everything happened so quickly, but the three of them seem healthy.

He cannot tell if it is the boy or the girl that Jean holds. It’s wedged in between Jean’s skin and his shirt, and he wears a thick fur wrapped around his torso to further keep warmth in. The other, he balances in the crook of his arm. Fatherhood suits Jean.

 Otabek abandons his near constant gaze on Yuri to see Isabella’s chest steadily rise and fall. She looks like the girl that he used to see as a child, soft and gentle.

Otabek’s gaze turns back to Yuri. He’d wondered if they should house both of them in the same tent, but there is little shelter available. She and Yuri destroyed many tents, and permanent structures. The dwelling that they are in now has half of the roof missing. Victor was able to stave off the bitterest of the cold, and make it muted. Cold still bit at the tip of his nose and his ears, but it was not deadly.

Yuri’s rest is not as sound as Isabella’s. Yuri whimpers in his sleep, and he calls out for many people: Otabek, Victor, his grandfather, and his mother. When Yuri calls out for those who are here, Otabek sends for them. Nikolai speaks to Yuri in a voice that is deep, and soft simultaneously. He sings to Yuri with a slow and haunting timbre. Victor tells him in a soft playful voice that he has much to improve upon. Otabek tells him that he’s proud of him. Otabek tells him that he loves him.

Otabek removes Yuri’s shirt when he soaks through it with sweat. He puts on more bedding when he shivers with the cold. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yuri stills. His breathing is shallow, and that too evokes anxiety for Otabek. His breaths are shallow, and Otabek constantly finds himself resting a hand upon his chest to make sure that he is still breathing. Yuri’s eyelids flutter in closed sleep, never opening completely, but reacting to the sound of their voices.

Yuri looks as if he is in pain every time that Jean speaks, and it makes him want to take the conversation outside. However, he cannot be torn away from Yuri, and Jean cannot be torn away from his children.

To comfort him, Otabek settles for touching his lips to Yuri’s forehead. He feels sickly hot damp with fever. Or, he’ll gently brush the pad of his thumb against Yuri’s mouth. Otabek has to hope that whatever pain he feels at the present is minimal.

Potya wanders in, circles three times, and lays down at Yuri’s side. That seems to comfort him better than anything Otabek has done. Otabek fights the pinprick feeling of jealousy the best that he can. After all _this_ cat wasn’t the creature that destroyed their home, and gripped his husband so tightly that he feared that he was lost forever.

“I’d like to speak with you,” Jean says finally while Otabek’s got his fingers tangled in Yuri’s long hair.

“So speak.”  Otabek isn’t exactly angry at his friend.  Much of what happened was directly out of Jean’s control. He understands that it was fueled completely by their spouses’ jealousy and anger. Yet, there had to be a reason that they came for him. Whatever that reason was, was the source of all of this pain and destruction. It is difficult to not feel a pang of hate in his heart when he almost lost Yuri.

“Beka, we didn’t just come here because of,” Jean’s voice trails off, as if he cannot find the words. He doesn’t need them. Otabek is just aware as he is of the strange thick past that is wedged between the two of them. “I mean, I didn’t want to give up on you. When people said things about you, I defended you, because you were my friend. I mean-“ his voice falters.

Whatever bit of anger that Otabek held towards Jean dissipates immediately. All Jean ever did was care about him, maybe even love him. It is immensely selfish, but Otabek cannot stop the pang of hurt in his chest. He cannot, will not love Jean back.

Jean finds his voice once more, “I didn’t want any of this to happen.” The statement is loaded with many different meanings. Otabek would like to believe that he can see many of them.

Otabek nods. Jean has always been averse to violence and destruction. He’s known that for some time now. It’s strange to see that Jean maintains that trait even though he must have been pulled onto the battlefield countless times by now.

“Things have gotten really bad Otabek.” Jean admits. “My father was killed last summer. He was on horseback leading a raid.”

“Jean, I’m sorry.”

“Beka,” Jean’s face, which is tinged with sadness, becomes paralyzed with apprehension. Otabek knows what it is that comes next. After all, their clans so often fought together. When Jean finally says, “your clan was involved too.” Jean breaks the eye contact between them, as if he were ashamed to speak further. “God, I shouldn’t be telling you this…Like this.”

Otabek doesn’t respond right away. He knows what comes next. He’s lost uncles and half-brothers before.

“Your father,” Jean continues. “Kehmhebek and Serebek too,” and hearing those names stings infinitely more than hearing that his own father was dead. These men, his brothers had actually been kind to him. They’d acted more as fathers than brothers. They seemed to love him far more genuinely than the Patriarch ever could. “There are some that rode east. We assume that they got away, but there are few of us left. We’re scattered, displaced, and weak.”

Otabek nods. None of it feels particularly shocking. The two groups were working against borrowed time.

“This probably sounds stupid, especially after what happened, but I’m so tired of fighting.”

“Jean, you didn’t come here simply to tell me that my family is dead and displaced.” Of this, Otabek is more certain than anything else that he’s experienced since he was pulled from Yuri’s side this morning.

 “There aren’t many capable of leading left. They want me to do it.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Otabek asks. He can remember when they were children. Jean ran around calling himself king. Everyone acted scandalized, and saw this as an affront to his father. Except, Jean’s father loved it. It made him laugh in a deep booming voice that shook tent poles.

Jean speaks simply. His bravado is gone, shaken from him by the battle and the events that have befallen him. “I don’t know if I’m ready to lead Otabek. I hate battle, and we come from a warring people. I need help.”

“So you ask the disgraced son to help?” Otabek cannot hold back his laugh. It contains years of contained and unspoken bitterness. “Some things haven’t changed Jean.” Otabek cannot help but entertain the idea, despite everything that has happened. “Questionable warrior. Formidable diplomat.”

He can remember laying on the grass with Yuri. Yuri spoke freely, “We could take more. There can’t be that many of you,” and then buried his face in his chest in shame.

“Still,” Otabek pushes stray strands of hair away from Yuri’s face. They have much to discuss when he wakes. “What an awful way to ask for an alliance.”


	6. Morning Has Broken

Otabek had to leave Yuri’s side in order to allow Cyne to hunt. He takes her to the near edge of the village, hopeful that she can catch something in order to sate her hunger. She returns with a pheasant that would be large enough to skin and eat, but Otabek allows her to eat her fill. He isn’t hungry.

Otabek hoods the bird, and looks out across the expanse of the pink morning horizon. To his left rest the ruined carcasses of homes. To the right, everything looks untouched.  As he works he can feel eyes upon him. “What is it?” He doesn’t turn to see who it is. Regardless of the messenger, he knows what the message is.

Victor’s voice is soft. It doesn’t hold judgement or anger, but Otabek isn’t naive enough to believe that the absence of judgment in his voice is a good sign. What had happened was avoidable, and now the four of them must pay the consequences. “Your acquaintances were escorted to the elder’s tent a few moments ago. They were surprisingly docile. Yuri probably shouldn’t be there. You either,” and the soft quiet kindness evaporates into his strange and curious tone. Otabek knows it well enough to be frightened by it. Strange things that claw at his gut and his conscious always happen when Victor speaks that way. “And if you didn’t know where Lilia’s home is, it’s right across from the temple. It’s the one with thread woven into the interior walls. From the outside there is a stone vestibule…”

“Thank you Victor.”

Otabek shakes Yuri awake, pulls his clothes over him. When Otabek reaches for his foot and tries to pull a boot on, Yuri kicks and Yuri shouts, “what the fuck is going on asshole?” Yuri sleeps fitfully. He wakes fitfully.

“They’ve taken them to tribunal Yura.”

“So fucking what? We haven’t killed anyone in a _long_ time. They’ll probably be fine.”

“They’re my friends,” Otabek listens to the way that the word comes out of his mouth. It isn’t quite right. They used to be friends. He didn’t feel as if they were truly enemies.

“Yeah, well your fucking friends tried to kill me, or do you not remember that part?” Then he pulls his boots off and flops back down onto the small mountain of bedding that Otabek had extracted him from. “They wanted to take you from me. Or did you want to go?” His voice is still laden with sleep. Instead of assuming his usual gruff tone, Yuri sounds like an exhausted child. “Are you still in love with him?”

“Yura.” Otabek cannot feign the exhaustion in his voice. There is so much to tell Yuri, and there is so little time. “I never loved him. Know that.”

“Then why do you give a fuck?”

“Remember when I told you I had a homeland?”

Yuri sits up and looks upon him with furrowed brow. Otabek can tell that he teeters upon the edge of realization, and on the edge of being very upset. “Your people were searching for it,” Yuri responds. “Hey, you never told me why you weren’t with your clan. Why you were all alone.”

“Would you like to know?”

“It has to do with them. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes and no.” Otabek doesn’t know where to begin the story. It begins at his birth, for he _used_ to be Otabek Altin, one son of many. Now, it seems that he is Otabek Altin, one son of few. They don’t have time for all of that detail. So, Otabek begins with explaining the rites of passage set for him by the Patriarch. He tells Yuri of how he failed them tremendously, and how he never looked back.

Otabek speaks rapidly and does his best to gloss over the betrothal. Of course, this is what Yuri fixates upon. “I fucking knew it.”

“Yura, it’s not important. I meant what I told you in battle, I love you. I’m not going anywhere.” And so Yuri drops that line of conversation.

Otabek repeats what Jean told him about his family and their clans. He can see Yuri’s face go through a gamut of emotion as he speaks: anger, sadness, and finally empathy before he cycles through them all over again. His husband is so fierce and so protective, he knows that all of this must be incredibly difficult for Yuri to listen to.

When he’s finished, Yuri asks point blank, “what does this have to do with me?”

“You probably don’t remember this but, one time we were out in the fields. I told you my people were looking for our homeland.”

“Of course I fucking remember.”

“No earth shall be tread upon twice,” Otabek says, more to himself than he does to Yuri.

“You want me to speak up for these assholes after they come to my village, try to take my husband, and destroy half of my home?” He says it in a tone that implies that he wants an answer. Except, he’s tugging on his boots, and grabbing for the thick winter tunic that he wears outdoors.

“It’s not just them Yuri. I have brothers, sisters. I am an uncle many times over.”

“I know that,” Yuri barks. “Gods, you’re so fucking lucky that I love you,” Yuri says as he charges outside. “So lucky.”

Jean and Isabella stand before the village elders holding one child apiece. Where many men would cast their eyes downward, and ask for reverence, they do anything but. Isabella’s gaze is firm, piercing, judgmental. Jean’s is warm, open, and begs forgiveness.

Yuri throws the door flap open to Lilia’s dwelling, and demands that they listen to Otabek. “Hey assholes, invite me next time or I’ll wreck your shit too.”

Lilia turns towards the both of them. Her entire expression is hard lines on top of hard lines. Otabek expects her too to shed her human form and take on her own iteration of a ghastly and powerful beast. It’s enough to make him want to bolt out of the dwelling immediately. “You’ll have your turn Yuri.”

“Seriously?” Yuri spits. “You assholes bitch at me and bitch, ‘sleep with wet tea on your forehead’ awaken, get shit done. Well, I did that, now you’re upset?”

“You’ve seen the extent of your destruction. There must be consequences.”

“What are you going to do?” Yuri barks.

Otabek can feel Yuri’s energy raw and unbridled. It sucks the air out of the room. Desperate to diffuse the situation, he claps a heavy hand over Yuri’s shoulder. Green static crackles up his arm, and makes everyone go silent.

“Right so,” Yuri looks over his shoulder at him. Athough he puffs out his chest and pulls every bit of raw energy that he can muster, the illusion of power and bloodlust is lost on Otabek. All he sees is a scared man who desperately hopes that it’s worth it to lay it on the line for his husband. “Otabek’s gonna talk. You’re gonna listen, and-“ Yuri’s laid bare and vulnerable look vanishes in an instant, and is replaced with a cocky smirk designed for Otabek and Otabek alone.  “You’re not making him sit by the door in the cold. You’re not making him serve tea.”

Otabek wants to argue that no one made him do _any_ of that the last time they were summoned to sit before the elders, but now is not the time to engage in a lovers’ quarrel with his husband. “I am thankful each and every day that Yuri and your people,” he looks to the elders. Yakov, and Lilila, and an exhausted looking Nikolai. “For I am one son of many, and it is customary for my people-“

Yuri groans in frustration beside him, but he insists upon telling the entire story. It may be the only chance he ever has to do so. “To never walk upon the same swath of Earth twice.”

Negotiations launch into the night and go well past sunrise. They must be stopped frequently to hush crying babies, and to break up the scuffles which emerge often between Yakov and Yuri. Occasionally they erupt between Yuri and Jean as well. Yuri oscillates between trying to land blows and defending him within the very same breath.

When the noon sun burns bright in the sky the next day, he feels like a husk of a man that he used to be before the battle. He hasn’t slept much since. Otabek leverages their skilled leather working abilities, and the fact that although their numbers are few they still have many horses. They can ride, and they can hunt, and they can protect. They can take foals to other villages and sell them for coins of gold, and fine cloth, and spices.

Two representatives: one from the village and one from the now combined Altin and Leroy clans, stand before not just the elders, but the entire village in the common square. It feels as if they’re being married once again. Under scrutinous, and skeptical eyes, Otabek kneels before Yuri and vows with his life that his people will protect and rebuild the village, “with my sword, my body, and my life.”

Yuri interrupts the tense gravity of the situation with a barely stifled laugh, and he can _feel_ Lilia judging them further. Yuri leans in and whispers to him, “I can’t help it, your _body. Your sword?”_  Then, Yuri pulls away again. “Alright. Roam our land. Hunt for big fucking boars. Help me kick ass when assholes come.”

Lilia insists that the pact, “should not be signed with such vulgar words.” To this she also adds, “the Lihosh should not hold his village hostage either. Despite this, the pact between them is sealed anyway.

* * *

Otabek lives simply. There is the earth, damp black soil from which all things grow. There is the sky, which he scans meticulously for sights of Cyne. He spots her along the horizon swooping for prey, and so he nudges the mare and they ride forward. There are deep brimming pools of water, and in the reflections of those pools are the images of himself and his husband looking upon themselves with one another. There is always plenty to eat.

Otabek lives simply, for there is nothing that burdens his heart anymore. He wakes in the morning, and kisses Yuri on the temple. He takes Cyne out of her mew, and they hunt together until there is plenty. This morning, Otabek is joined by his brother Baltabek.

Baltabek rides upon a chestnut gelding with a flocked nose. She is stubborn and bites at everyone who dare wander too near. However, Baltabek has always been good with animals. He is not the man that Otabek remembers. He has wisps of gray in his hair, although Otabek knows that he is not that much older than he. He carries upon his shoulders an immense, but invisible burden. Otabek can see it through the way that he walks shoulders hunched. He can see it in the way that he interacts with others, guarded and withdrawn. He can see it, because he too used to carry such a burden.

Jean did not underestimate their numbers. Fewer than thirty people follow Isabella and Jean through the ridge, and into the village. It is the kind of image that should weigh heavy on his heart, for Kehmebek and Serebek were close to his heart. However if not for this, would he have ever had this moment with Baltabek again? Would he had ever seen his younger sister Farida, for whom he’d always thought of so fondly? For every face that he does not see among the ashes of his family, there are faces that he would’ve given anything to see again.

He and Jean both know that there would have been no rest for the clans, life would’ve continued, onward and forward forever until something of this magnitude happened.

Otabek extends his arm, and waits for Cyne to land upon it. She brings him a hare. Otabek watches with as his brother raises his own arm, and waits for his own bird to land. He cannot remember looking upon any of his brothers with such fondness or tenderness before he left the clan.

Baltabek’s bird brings nothing more than a field mouse. Baltabek does not curse, but Otabek can feel the frustration in his pinched expression. “She’ll learn,” and he hands the hare over to Baltabek. “It took me several months to train Cyne properly.”

“Should you not keep this?” Baltabek gestures to the animal. “For your bride.” His thick brows are knit together, and it’s the closest thing that to a laugh that Baltabek can muster.

“My bride will surely sleep until the sun is high in the sky. I have plenty of time to bring him something better.”

* * *

Otabek is incorrect in his assumption that Yuri will sleep in. When he returns to their dwelling Yuri is awake, albeit just barely so. He sits among the upturned bedding. His hair is still tousled from sleep. He needs to wipe the sleep from the corners of his eyes. He has an angry red line down the side of his face from where he lay on something, and it imprinted onto his face.

Yuri wears a thin braided bracelet upon his wrist. He toys with the strand, and for a moment, all Otabek can do is watch his husband in quiet fascination.

Yuri is supposed to marry Victor and Yuuri on the first day of spring. Otabek learns that this is never a specific day marked by lunar cycles or the specific passage of time, but instead whenever the first pink and white blossoms spring out from the trees in the village. Otabek spends a great deal of time crafting intricate gifts for the couple.

He makes them matching leather bracelets out of material that was carefully tanned and cured and artfully woven. Otabek spends countless winter nights hunched over the fire, trying to work the fabric into a tight and intricate braid. It is no secret that Yuri covets them. He often stand behind him, drape his lean form over him, and breathe hotly into his ear. “I like those. I want one.”

To which Otabek will reply, “I gave you a piece for your hair. You rarely wear it. I gave you bracelets. You haven’t worn them save for our wedding night.”

“Not every night is dancing around the camp fire Beka,” Yuri scoffs. “Sheep to tend, villages to destroy.” It never takes much effort to pull him away from his work. Yuri will nibble at his earlobe, or kiss down his jawline. He’ll say in a needy voice that always implies _more,_ “come to bed. I’m cold.”

Otabek often gave in to Yuri, however, it did not stop him from working tirelessly. He traded a king’s ransom for a pair of large brass beads with which the bracelets could be fastened.

It’s a small token when he feels as if he owes them his life and the stars above too. He does not know if he and Jean could have neutralized the threat alone.

In the present, Yuri toys with one of the large brass beads on the bracelet. He looks to Otabek with a smile. “Let me guess, you gave Baltabek our breakfast again.”

“I didn’t anticipate that you’d wake so soon.”

Yuri stretches his long limbs across the bedding. He arches his back and presses his chest out toward Otabek. He can hear the subtle _pop_ of Yuri’s joints as he slowly bends and contorts, and tries to drive the tension from his body.

“I’ll make you one,” Otabek finally recedes after weeks of Yuri begging. Perhaps it is because he _still_ feels compelled to give Yuri the moon and the stars above, even when he _doesn’t_ ask. “After the ceremony.”

“After?” Yuri turns his head in consideration. “I think it will take more than a bracelet to make up for the fact that you gave away our breakfast too.” Yuri’s eyes betray his sour expression. Otabek would recognize the look of need upon his husband’s face even if he were blind.

Although the morning dew has melted, and the day presses onward, Otabek returns to bed. He’s spent so much time working alongside members of his clan and members of the village to work, rebuild, and prepare for winter. He’s spent so much time making sure that the sheep are warm and fed. Although each day begins and ends with Yuri, he cannot remember the last time that they could simply exist with one another.

Otabek peels his shirt away, and dives for Yuri. Yuri’s skin is soft, and supple, and inviting. Yuri vibrates against him with laughter as he kisses everywhere he can reach, over skin, clothes, hair. “I could make it up to you?”

Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s middle. He’s grown into his long lanky limbs in the short time they’ve been married. Yuri is now tall, graceful, and in complete control of his form. Otabek loves every inch of him.

Yuri kisses him the way that Otabek himself so often kisses Yuri. It’s soft, and it’s mindful, and it’s so good for taking subtle observations of the way the body acts and reacts. Yuri breathes into the kiss, and then pulls away leaving Otabek panting for more.

“Let me do you,” his green eyes sparkle with mischief. “We haven’t done it like that in so long. I like the way that you moan my name.”

“Yura,” of course, Yuri’s got him reduced to a swooning maiden in no time at all.

“Sounds like you like the idea?” Yuri’s hands travel downward, and grope him through his pants. “Feels like you like the idea.

“I would do anything you asked of me Yura.” He threads his fingers into Yuri’s long blonde hair and kisses Yuri the way that Yuri so often kisses him. It’s fierce, relentless, and unending. It’s Yuri that has to break the kiss. It’s Yuri that’s left panting and chasing more, and it’s such a good feeling.

Yuri pushes him down onto the bed, and nips at his neck a few times. He pulls back to watch the red mark blossom on his skin, as it acts as a silent reminder that no matter what feeling he brings to Yuri, Yuri can bring it back to him in triplicate. It serves as a reminder that Otabek should be thankful each day that this strong unfettered being is so gentle with him.

“Let’s see if I remember what it is that you like…”Yuri latches on to the other side of his neck, and marks his collar bone similarly. “Since it’s been so long.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out-ah!” Otabek is interrupted by Yuri rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and lapping gently at the other. Yuri shoots him a devilish glare as he works Otabek’s body. Yuri alternates between the pressure of his fingers, the softness of his tongue, and the sharpness of his teeth grazing against his skin.

“Oh yeah,” Yuri kisses lower, and tugs his pants downward.

Otabek peels away his shirt, and spreads out upon the bed in offering to Yuri.

Yuri in kind presses a kiss to the tip of Otabek’s cock, and Otabek arches up into the touch. “I think you liked this too.”

“Hm,” Otabek groans. “Very much.”

Yuri takes him into his mouth, and pulls off quickly. He sticks his tongue out in disgust. “You need a bath Beka.”

“You don’t exactly smell like spring wild flowers,” Otabek notes. He props himself up on his elbows, and watches Yuri experimentally lap at him again.

“Gods, when it’s not fucking freezing outside, I’m gonna wash you until your skin is raw.”

“Hm,” Otabek takes his own cock by the base and taps it against Yuri’s lips, growing tired of Yuri’s teasing. “Are we doing this or not?”

“Yeah,” Yuri sucks in a sharp breath, and he can feel Yuri the underside of his cock from the root to the tip. Yuri playfully laps at the ridge of his cock, never fully taking him into his mouth. He lets him rest on his lips, and against the soft skin of his cheek.

Otabek cannot help himself. He thrusts up into the soft wet warmth of Yuri’s mouth, and Yuri does his best to accept all of him at once. While Yuri teases him with his mouth, he can feel Yuri grope around in the furs and the thick wool blanket looking for their container of lubricant. Each and every time that they do this Otabek’s chest tightens and his heart flutters in anticipation and anxiety.

He’s had the time, and the experience to understand that making love to Yuri this way is nothing shameful. Yuri pushes his body to the limit every time, and he loves each and every minute of it. Still, there is a disagreeable portion of his heart that argues that this was fine for the man with no rank, and a disgraced name. Now, he leads men on horseback down the gorge and onward into the world unknown for hunting missions. This bound part of his mind believes that if he leads men, he should lead his spouse as well.

But these are the old ways of thinking, and they died a long overdue death when Yuri strung them all out across the eastern portion of the village and smashed them up. All it takes is one look from Yuri filled with love and respect, and adoration, and he shakes it from his mind, because the old ways are gone.

 Otabek that locates the salve. It’s wrapped up in one of Yuri’s temple robes. He grabs it, and rests it near his hip where Yuri can see. Yuri grabs it, and immediately coats his fingers in it. “I love you anyway, even if you’re dirty.”

Otabek draws his legs up to his chest giving Yuri access to his body. “I love you, even if you are disagreeable to me.”

Yuri circles Otabek’s hole. The scent of the salve is thick in the air. Yuri presses in, and Otabek accepts him immediately.

“You’re usually so tense,” Yuri notes. “Like you’re still really fucking tight, but you’re not like…freaking out about it.”

“I want you,” Otabek responds simply while rocking against the single digit Yuri has inside.

Yuri gives him another finger, and kisses him deeply. This time, it’s the kind of kiss that blossoms out of passion and contains no hint of coordination. Their teeth clink together. There is too much tongue. They kiss as if they’d just met, and hadn’t been married for nearly a year. Yuri struggles to balance himself on Otabek as he fingers him, and so he falls on top of him with his fingers buried deep inside.

Otabek loves every second of it. While others see Yuri the sure footed dancer, he sees Yuri fumbling and fuzzy with passion.

 Yuri’s fingers are long, and he can reach the spot without even using his cock.  It’s amazing, how Yuri can touch him from the inside, and make his cock twitch in response. Otabek rolls his hips against Yuri, and their cocks rub against one another.

“That’s right,” Yuri purrs. “Show me.”

“Of course,” and even in his blissed out state. Otabek knows what it is that he needs to do. “I’m ready.”

Yuri’s fingers slide out slowly, and although he knows what comes next is better, he still whimpers at the loss of contact. Yuri reaches for his cock, but Otabek stops him.

“Not like that.” He sits up, and pats on the furs, gesturing for Yuri to lay down.

“You wanna ride me?”

“Yeah.”

Otabek peels away the rest of Yuri’s clothes. He peppers kisses down Yuri’s body, until Yuri becomes fitful with need and fist his hands into his hair, and demands, “Beka,”

Then and only then does Otabek straddle Yuri’s hips. With one hand on Otabek’s hip, and the other on his own cock, Yuri guides Otabek down. Although Otabek feels the familiar tug of friction, and the inevitable sting of the intrusion, but his body yields quickly.

Typically, Yuri has to wait for him to relax, has to rock against him gently. Now, he pushes back against Yuri immediately.

“Really did want me.”

“Yeah, really.” Otabek agrees. First, he rocks gently on his knees, taking Yuri in fast but shallow thrusts. Then, he moves into a crouching position, which is always best to torment Yuri. He pulls upward, so that he’s barely on the tip of Yuri’s cock, and then he sinks back down.

“Oh fuck, Beka.”

Yuri’s eyes never leave his body, and he can feel Yuri take in all of him with his ember hot gaze. So Otabek moves for Yuri, he grinds for Yuri. He feels Yuri caress the side of his face and he takes his thumb into his mouth and grazes the pad lightly with his teeth. He loves Yuri.

Yuri is a constant and furious force forever in motion, even when he’s stationary. Now is no exception. He moves just as much as Otabek does. He pushes up against Otabek, he arches up against the bed. He hauls himself up by wrapping his arms around Otabek’s neck to drag him into a kiss before flopping back down onto the bedding and _moaning_ his name long and thick.            

Yuri feels so good, like the finest silk wrapped in hard stone. He can feel Yuri’s hands rest at the small of his back. It acts as a subtle guide for what to do and how to move. Yuri looks so good, with his hands splayed out wide across his chest while he moves. Yuri sounds so good, like Otabek is the best feeling in the world.   

“Slow down,” Yuri slurs, but he can’t. He’s too busy chasing the same high that Yuri desperately tries to avoid. “Seriously, Beka.”

“Want you to.”

“Asshole,” and at that, Yuri wraps his hand around Otabek’s cock. Judging by his moans, and his fluttering eyes, and his tension filled body, Yuri seems completely blissed out, unable of anything other than receiving pleasure. However, he still jerks off Otabek like it’s at the forefront of his mind. He twists on the down stroke just the way Otabek likes it. He rubs his finger across the head, spreading precum everywhere.

Soon, Yuri wrestles every ounce of control that Otabek possesses away. Yuri pulls himself upright and bites down on Otabek’s neck, and the next thing he knows, he’s coming into Yuri’s hand. Then Yuri’s pushing him backwards into the bed and fucking him hard.

Otabek sees white when he screws his eyes shut, and Yuri when he opens them. There is nothing on this earth more important than Yuri. “Yuri,” Otabek begs. This is what he means when he says that Yuri pushes his body to the limit. “Yuri please.”

“Beka,” then Yuri’s pulling out and coming all over him, marking him, branding him. He’s because he’s Yuri’s and Yuri’s alone.

* * *

“One more time you piece of trash!” Yuri yells at Potya, who lays sprawled out on the grass belly up. She kicks and paws at a butterfly which flies well beyond her reach. Idiot. “C’mon.” Yuri stomps over to the cat, blades of grass tickle the bottoms of his feet. When he gets too close, Potya turns on him by latching onto his ankles with her front paws, and kicking him with her back paws. “Seriously?” He shakes the cat off, his ankles are already a mess of insect bites and scrapes.

Potya rolls over on the grass, and looks up at him intently as if she’s just now hearing his initial request for the first time. “Meow?”

“Yeah, I said let’s do it again.”

Potya gets up on all fours, and brushes up against his ankles.

“And let’s not scare the fucking sheep this time.” He’d spent the better part of the morning chasing down a few lambs because Potya decided to bat one like a field mouse. They scattered after that.

Yuri can feel the air go still around him as Potya moves. Static crackles at his feet, and he can feel the pull of her energy overtaking his. It makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck. It makes his stomach do flip flops.

Yuri resists the pull. He widens his stance, and grits his teeth. Yuri feels his vision tunnel. He can see his hair stand out straight around his hair and whip in front of his eyes. He lets the energy wash over him, but he doesn’t let it consume him. He lets it bubble upon the surface, sharp and dangerous, but never allows it to become unfettered.

Yuri clasps his hands in front of him. He widens his hands, and watches Potya grow. He widens them again, so that his hands are a shoulder’s length apart. Potya grows to the size of a sheep. Yuri widens his arms so they’re straight across his body. Potya grows once again to the size of a horse. Yuri pulls his arms backwards, so that his chest sticks out. Potya grows larger still. He grabs onto Potya, and flings himself onto her back.

“Slowly,” Yuri commands, and he leads Potya across the length of the field in a steady trot. No lambs or ewes are disturbed. “Finally,” Yuri sighs, letting out the breath he’d been holding since he first felt the electric glow between the two of them.

Yuri digs his heels into her sides, and she rears up upon back legs. She charges forward to the rocky ridge, traverses it like it’s nothing at all. For a moment, all Yuri can do is hold his breath and look down upon the village below. He’s looked upon these fields, and the little huts that dot the horizon, and the well-worn path that leads on to the valley and the world outside for his entire life. For the first time, they look breathtaking.  Somewhere out there, Otabek rides on horseback, and together they protect these lands. Together, they seem to be barreling towards something much grander than a singular Yuri, a singular Otabek. They seem to be smashing headlong into something bigger than the two of them together.

 All too soon, the tranquil scene is interrupted by the constant nagging sensation of duty intertwined with anxiety. Yuri leads her back down the ridge. He doesn’t want any of the little bleating bastards to wander away while he’s gone.  

He jumps off of Potya, spreads his arms wide, and compresses them slowly back together. Potya’s compliant behavior is short lived. She darts off in the opposite direction, and Yuri watches the creature bound across the field, shaking the earth, and then shrink back slowly to smaller size as he moves.

“How can you have so much energy?” Yuri flops onto his back onto the grass. “Fucking draining. I’m hungry now too.” Yuri props himself up onto his elbows, considering for a moment getting into his satchel and digging out whatever food Otabek put in it for him this morning. Except, it’s so far, and it takes so much energy.

Yuri sees the tips of the mare’s jet black ears coming up over the ridge before he hears her hooves or sees her rider. In a flash, he takes off towards the horse, even though he knows that Otabek will ride up to him. He lurches forward, but he lacks his usual grace. His limbs are longer now, and it is difficult for him to maintain control when Otabek is so near.

Otabek walks to the place where the earth crests and leads down into the pasture. Otabek’s whole expression lights up when he sees him. As soon as Yuri catches sight of his face, he falls face first into the grass.

And he’d be mad at that asshole husband of his for laughing if he weren’t addicted to the sound. Otabek possessed a deep belly laugh that could rattle tent poles, or make the ground buckle beneath his feet if he weren’t careful. Otabek’s laugh is a beautiful and cherished thing.

Otabek dismounts, helps him up, and kisses him full on the mouth. “Ready for tonight?”

“Fuck no,” Yuri grouses. Although it’s one of his expected duties as Lihosh, he couldn’t have a worse couple as his first ceremony. “They make me gag.”

“Right.” Otabek arches a single brow, and it tears his response to shreds. It’s as if Otabek _knows_ that Yuri demanded to do it for them, for no reason other than it was easier than telling the both of them, “thank you,” for all that they did when his powers awakened.

“I got you something,” Otabek says, reluctantly pulling away from Yuri so that he can look him in the eyes. “It might make tonight a little easier.”

“What is it?”

“I remember when Victor married us. He had all kinds of intricate jewelry. Maybe he even wore more than you.”

“He did,” Yuri responds. “Bastard.”

“And you liked the bracelets I made for them.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I ran out of leather unfortunately.” Otabek pulls something from the small satchel he keeps tied at his hip. He extracts something small, that Yuri cannot see. “Close your eyes.”

Yuri complies.

“Hold out your hand.”

“Just lemme see!”

“Hold out your hand!”

And so Yuri finally complies. Otabek places something into his hand, and as soon as he can feel his hands in his own, he opens his eyes. In his hand is a comb made from deep rich alabaster. Yuri can feel his eyes go wide, and his heart skip a few beats. “You made this for me?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I make time for things that are important,” Otabek responds dryly. Like his gift is no big deal.

Yuri pulls his hair back across his ear, and crams the comb against his scalp. “How does it look?”

“Lovely.”

Yuri barely lets Otabek get the words out of his mouth before he’s pulling him into a tight embrace. Then, he’s kissing him, hard and demanding. Yuri plunges his tongue inside Otabek’s mouth, and doesn’t let him come up for air. Only Otabek could make something like Victor’s wedding something to look forward to. He loves Otabek. He loves his husband so very much.

“Otabek,” Yuri pulls away from the kiss. He runs his hand down the back of Otabek’s thick leather armor. He toys with the clasp on the back. “Did you take a bath? You smell really good.”

“Yeah,” and Yuri can see a hot blush creep across Otabek’s face. Faint, and barely there. Like a secret just for Yuri. “You know, to be presentable.”

“Yeah,” Yuri responds, “presentable.” Otabek’s got his hair slicked back. And he’s always a sucker for seeing Otabek in his element: armor on, long riding boots that go up almost to his knees, sword at his hip. Yuri swoons when Otabek leans in for another kiss.

* * *

Yuri wears the garment Otabek brought him for their own wedding. The dyed purple fabric is just as vibrant now as it was nearly a year ago. The goldenrod embroider reveals even more patterns now that he’s able to look upon Yuri’s body without feeling as if he’s staring into the sun.

Yuri’s hair is now wound into a tight braid across the top of his head. It spills down his back, and threaded at the center is the thin comb which Otabek crafted for him.

“You’re upstaging the bride,” Otabek whispers playfully into Yuri’s ear.

“The bride will be none the wiser,” Yuri grits back between clenched teeth. Of course, he says this as he watches Victor carefully for any kind of reaction, but there is none. Victor’s gaze is trained soley onto Yuuri. The couple sit in the center of the circle. Judging by their relaxed positions and soft smiles, they seem to be comfortable with, enjoy even, the soft subtle pressure of all eyes upon them.

His younger sister Farida steps into Yuri’s space, and she’s so close that they could almost touch noses. “You’re really pretty.” Farida has been sent to work, serving tea and wine along with the other younger girls. Judging by the amount of wine spilled down her shirt, she has much to learn. Otabek simply alleviates her of her task, by plucking the cask from her hands and taking a long draught.

“You’re really dirty,” Yuri notes edging away slightly from the wine stained girl.

“I’m not that dirty!”

“Uh-huh,” Yuri notes while reaching for the wine in Otabek’s hand. Otabek gives it to him, and watches Yuri’s throat bob as he takes a long drink from the container.

“Did my brother make you that?” She gestures to the hair comb.

“Yeah,” his fingers run over it lightly.

“Those too?” She gestures to the bracelets around his wrist.

“He didn’t make them,” Yuri huffs clearly growing tired of her. “But he gave them to me. The outfit too.”

“Really?”

“No I just made it all up.” Yuri rolls his eyes. He cups his hand and pushes a few bangles down over his long fingers. Then, he grabs Farida’s arm and pushes the bracelets over her sticky wine stained hand. “This is not a gift. You have to give it back at the end of the night. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now scram.”

Farida turns to run on her heel, but Otabek catches her up into his grasp, and makes her sit next to him. Yuri shoots him a death glare that demands that he keep her far away from his clean robes.

All too soon, Yuri is pulled from his side in order to begin the ceremony. His presence is just as commanding as Victor’s was during their own ceremony, but the nature of that presence is markedly different.

Jean’s laughter rises up and weaves in and out of the chatter of the crowd. “The first general of any formation must have a certain kind of style…”Yuri calls everyone to attention by jumping over the fire, and kicking Jean square in the chest. “Shut the fuck up asshole. Shitty as he is, a Lehosh is about to be married.”

Yuri introduces them through dance. His movements are rapid fire, and Otabek feels out of breath just watching him move. He spreads a shawl out wide across the expanse of his arms, and then he tosses it away revealing his finely embroidered clothes underneath. Then, he succeeds the audience’s attention and introduces the betrothed couple.

Much to his surprise, it is Yuuri that begins the marital dance. Yuri growls into his ear, just barely at earshot, “you’re fifteen paces away from the fire, so don’t fall in and burn up.” His movements are wide, confidant, and completely unlike the way that he moves normally. Every movement makes Otabek’s chest tight in a way that he did not think another man could make him feel. Each step that Yuuri takes is guided by the strange magic which he weaves.

Every eye in the audience is upon him, but he’s unaffected because he sees none of it. Only after every eye in the audience is upon Yuuri does Victor join him. Victor embraces him immediately and lifts him high into the air.

Yuuri’s face is one of ecstasy and adoration, capture perfectly by low and intimae firelight. It’s sure to leave everyone talking about it in hushed whispers for days to come.

Then, they spin round together, and when they break away, Yuuri’s touch lingers across Victor’s jawline in a silent, and undecipherable promise.

Then, their positions switch, such that it’s Yuuri performing a lift, and it is Victor who looks smitten.

Yuri ties a long red sash around their hands. He keeps their vows brief, and he sticks his tongue out in disgust when the couple seal their marriage with a kiss.

“They do dance together quite well,” he whispers when Yuri has returned to his side.

“Whatever,” Yuri clasps his hand into his own and squeezes hard. “Ours was way better.”

* * *

 

Otabek cannot sleep that night, regardless of the fact that he drank a great deal of wine, ate an enormous quantity of meat, and danced with Yuri until the balls of his feet ached. He finds himself outside roaming among the sheep. He’s never envied them before, but they have no worries of their own, and as such they can always find sleep. Even on nights such as this when the spirits, the magic, and all of the things that he doesn’t understand flow thick through the air.

The waxing gibbous moon provides just enough light to lure him into a false sense of security, and mask the fact that things do not always look as they appear. Cloaked in darkness, one sheep becomes two, and steady rocks become deep holes. Because of this, he does not stray far from their dwelling, which Yuri recently insisted they move further away from the village, into the large pasture at the base of the mountain Moss.

It took two days, and the assistance of Jean and Baltabek, but nothing was too good for his husband.

When the stars in the night sky provide neither the question nor the answer to the strange and intangible thing that is on his mind, he ducks back inside of the tent.

Much to his surprise, Yuri is awake. He stares intently at the walls of the dwelling, and holds a small lantern to inspect the thick felt walls. He runs his hand down the seam, and gasps when Otabek clasps his hands around him.

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

“Not really,” Yuri admits.

“What is so enthralling about these walls?”

“I’m making thread you know.”

“Hm.” Yuri always makes thread. He spends hours on end carding tufts of wool. He spent the better part of winter red faced and huffing at Farida on how to best spin it into a fine twine.

“I want to decorate it. Just like that hag Lilia’s.”

“What will you put on it?”

Yuri turns to him. In the faint light of the lantern, he looks like all the spirit and all the magic that hangs thick in the air personified.

Otabek supposes that maybe he is.

“I want to tell the story of Otabek Altin, one son of many.” Yuri lifts up his shirt and traces the scar along his abdomen. I want to tell the story of how he met Yuri Plisetsky, the one they always assumed would always be Lehosh.” Yuri kisses him, softly, chastely. “I want to tell the story of how they got married.”

“And how they fell in love after that?” Otabek grazes his lips across Yuri’s forehead.

“Yeah,” Yuri responds. “That's the story I want to tell.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell @ me about organic artisnal lube: boxwineconfession.tumblr.com, twitter: @confessionwine


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